


Into the Wood

by baranduin



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: First Love, First Time, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sort of Lady Chatterley, but one in which the lovers are the gamekeeper and Lady's Chatterley's brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seed

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Trianne for beta reading for me.

_Thank you, Connie._

Lady Chatterley's brother wandered through Wragby's park in the deepening violet of twilight, carrying his shoes and socks, dragging his feet across the wet lawn. With every slow step he took, blades of grass tickled his tender soles or slid against the tops of his feet, beading them with the cool dew. Though he knew they would be waiting for him in the dimly lit dining room, the long mahogany table illuminated with a dull gleam beneath the flickering candelabrum, he wanted to stay wrapped in the tranquility of the grounds a little while longer.

For the first time in seemingly forever, though only a week had passed from shocking beginning to sorry end of the affair, Elijah felt his being starting to unfurl from the tight knot of tension within and accusation without that had surrounded him. _Thank the Lord for Connie,_ he thought for the thousandth time. If it hadn't been for her, he would have had to face the wrath of their father, and though he fervently believed that in time his father would acknowledge the injustice done to him and rally to overturn the ruling set against him, nevertheless he did not have the inner fortitude for that battle yet.

No, not yet. Instead, he would stay here with Connie and Clifford for the time being, perhaps not a completely welcome or comfortable guest but not an abject pariah, either. They were his family; or, at least, Connie was family, dearer than blood, and Clifford his brother by marriage. He would lay up here for a month or two and lick his wounds beneath the eaves of the dense forest that lay all round about the house.

The sheltering trees had beckoned to him the day before as they had driven from the station to the house through the sullen coal-blackened village streets, tasting grit in the air, with the even more sullen faces staring up at them with silent indifference. But ah! finally they had escaped from Tevershall and rattled down the road, with the trees looming dark and ever closer. Then the gates of Wragby Hall had opened silently and shut behind them with a comforting clang. He never did see who the gatekeeper was, though Field had nodded a curt thanks to someone before nosing the car carefully through the narrow opening. Elijah had turned round to see who their benefactor was, but he did not catch even a glimpse of him, though he assumed it had been a "he" and not a "she" who had admitted him to this refuge of luxuriant green grass and flowering rhododendrons and pheasants rustling in the undergrowth. But Elijah had not seen him, had seen only the quivering of leaves that had marked his silent passage.

Elijah's slow progress across the lawn now brought him to the edge of the wood, and he stopped and sniffed for a minute, turning his head this way and that, scenting and naming each elusive smell. Laurel. Yes, there must be laurel in bloom on the wood's edge and very close by. He could not mistake that heady scent. And beneath its sweetness, there was something deeper that spoke of moss and wet stone and the mulch of leaves fallen and pressed into the earth by heavy boots of thick leather. Clean earth. He breathed in that earth and did not want to ever go back inside.

The sharp crack of a breaking branch startled Elijah and he backed up a step, clutching his shoes tight in his hand, but he did not leave. Perhaps some woodland creature would reveal itself to him if he had the patience and silence to await it. It had happened before, in other woods and clearings when he sat with sketchbook and pencil on his lap, waiting for his unknown subject to appear and guide his hand with its unselfconscious beauty. And now the slow crunch of leaves told him his quarry was drawing closer, not fleeing, and he peered into the gathering gloom at a narrow gap between the trees, squinting a little, his heart beating fast but not in fear. Surely there was nothing that could frighten him or harm him here. Not now that he had left the grey stone forest of Cambridge's censorious towers behind.

After a minute, he apprehended the source of the sound and movement, and for a split second he was disappointed. He had wanted a stripe-headed badger or a bushy-tailed vixen or even a brace of pheasants. Instead, what revealed itself to him was just a man, a tall broad-shouldered man wearing a flat cap pulled down over his forehead and carrying a rifle slung low in his hands.

The man touched his cap. "Evenin', sir. Taking a little air, are ye?"

The stranger's voice was low and gravelly, rough as his hobnailed boots that had tramped so carelessly through the woods, sure of their everlasting mastery. For some reason the sound of that voice made Elijah clench his bare toes into the grass, and they dug hard and fast, breaking below turf to find soil. He did not know why the man's voice had that effect on him, and it was not pleasant. It annoyed him. He did not know why.

Elijah didn't say anything, trying instead to think of a suitably superior response to this arrogant brute who had dared to crash out of the woods with his roughshod ways and uneducated voice. But just as he had it on the tip of his tongue, that perfect withering phrase, he found it was too late for the man was already turning away, with another touch of his cap.

"Good evenin' to ye. You'd best be putting your shoes on, young sir. Don't want t' catch a cold now, do ye?"

Elijah clenched his fists in an unknowing match to his already clutching toes and shouted after the disappearing man, "How dare you! I shall tell ..."

But his voice was swallowed up and muffled by the waiting trees and the only answer he received was the additional impertinence of laughter, rich and full-throated.

* * *

"My dear, I fully understand your protective instincts toward him and applaud you for your sisterly devotion. But even you must admit that the evidence is convincing ... damned convincing."

Elijah stopped just out of sight of the wide open dining room door and pressed his slight body against the wall, sharing his hiding place with a rather extravagant brass-potted rubber plant, holding back one leathery green leaf from his face. After a moment, during which he slowed his breathing quite consciously, his heart lifted at the sound of his sister's voice raised in his defense. Dearest Connie!

"Convincing or not, I believe him."

"But how? The slut was found naked in bed with him in his rooms. His scout was quite clear about that."

"Elijah doesn't lie. I believe him when he says he has no recollection of how this ... person ... came to be found in his bed in such a compromising position. And Clifford, you promised me that you would be welcoming to him."

"And so I shall, darling. So I shall. After all, is he not the brother of my wife? Believe me, I shall enjoy having the young pup around the place. After all, it's about time I got to know him a little better."

"Thank you. I knew I could depend on your discretion and understanding." The muffled thud of crystal against wood interrupted Connie's flow of words and started Elijah thinking of how he might make his entrance without being discovered as a lurker. And his appearance, or nonappearance it was more correct to say, was also starting to prey on Connie's mind, as her next words attested. "But where is he?"

"Walking in the park, I believe. Probably meditating on his sins ..."

"Clifford!"

"Sorry, my dear. Shall we start without him?"

As Connie and Clifford dithered a bit longer, Elijah slid down the hall away from the dining room, his back always to the wall to keep out of their sight. After he retreated far enough not to be seen (at least by Connie and Clifford—he was not bothered about a stray servant spying him, he had a right to go where he pleased in the house), he knelt and put his shoes and socks back on. _Damnation!_ He wished he had time to change into more appropriate attire, or at least to put on different trousers since his cuffs were sodden from the dew. Too late. Better this one time to appear at the table dressed too informally than to continue to delay Connie and Clifford. Walking quickly back down the hallway to join them, he made sure to make a clatter on the polished wood floor.

"There you are!" Connie said, half rising from her chair as he entered the room and seated himself across the table from her and on Clifford's left. "I was beginning to worry about you." She pressed the push bell at her right hand, caressing its smooth rounded jade with her long, elegant fingers. Though the kitchens were not terribly far from the dining room, Bess must have been poised just inside the passageway, soup tureen in hand, for she entered almost immediately.

"I'm sorry," Elijah said, smiling across at Connie. "The twilight was so glorious I didn't want to come inside at all."

"Well, you're here now." Clifford drew his wheelchair a little closer to the table and spread his napkin on his lap. "And the soup smells wonderful. Shall we begin?"

* * *

"What are you reading ... your beloved Ruskin? Or is it Walter Pater tonight?"

Elijah looked up from his book. Connie stood at the open bedroom door, her silk robe with sash knotted tightly around her slim waist and her fair hair loose about her shoulders. She held two thick china mugs in her hands, and Elijah could smell the aroma of hot chocolate even all the way across the room. If she'd knocked, he hadn't heard. Of course she hadn't knocked. She never did. He smiled and held up his book. "_The Mysterious Affair at Styles_."

"Ah! So you're the one who stole it from the library. And I was planning on reading it tonight myself. I've heard good things about her, this Agatha Christie." Connie set the mugs on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the mattress. "Is it good?"

"Yes. So far."

"Oh." Connie frowned in a little moue of feigned disappointment. "Well then, am I disturbing you?"

Though she made as if to get up and leave, Elijah knew she would do no such thing, not when there were the juicy details of his little contretemps to be dug out of him. Truth to tell, even if she did try to get up and leave, he wouldn't let her. Oh, he'd absolutely counted the hours until he could be here alone with her and unburden his heart! Completely. And she hers if she needed it. As they always did, even before their mother died too young. Sometimes Elijah thought they were a complete world unto themselves. Too bad he hadn't stayed safe inside its snug warmth. If he had, he wouldn't have made that mess at Cambridge. Or better to say he wouldn't have fallen into the trap set for him. For it _had_ been a trap. He just didn't understand who had laid the snare and, even more, why. And he didn't think he wanted to know. Not really. Not yet.

Elijah set his book face down on his lap and reached for Connie's wrist, encircling it lightly. "You never disturb me. Stay. I was waiting for you, actually. And the hot chocolate."

"Were you?" Connie leaned forward and kissed the tip of Elijah's nose. "And did you want me to tuck you in?"

"Well, yes, that would be nice. Though ..."

"Though what?"

"I'd rather we have one of our talks first. Yes?"

Connie laughed and kicked off her slippers. "I thought you'd never ask. Snuggle?"

"Yes, please."

It was a perfect bed for snuggling, being wide and soft, its blankets made of the finest wool and its sheets of smooth cotton laundered to a silky texture. Elijah pulled back the covers as Connie crawled over him and settled in, leaning against the brocade headboard and tucking her legs beneath the covers.

She stroked Elijah's face and took the mug he offered. For a moment, they both sipped their hot chocolate in companionable silence. Elijah thought hard about how to tell Connie about what had happened, though he knew he had no need to be worried. She stayed silent as he knew she would, letting him say what he needed to say in his own time.

But when he opened his mouth to speak, something untoward sped through his mind, and so he said nothing.

Connie stroked his face again. "What is it? I thought you wanted to tell me. We've always told each other everything, haven't we?"

Elijah smiled. "Yes, I know. But ..."

"What?"

"Isn't it different now?"

"How?"

Elijah gestured at expanse of the room with one hand. "This. You. You're married now."

Though Connie smiled, there was anxiety in it, and Elijah could see that. "How should that change anything?" she asked slowly, her eyebrows knotted with dismay.

Elijah looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes, ashamed. "Don't you tell Clifford everything now? Will you tell him what I say to you?"

Connie sighed and reached out a hand to take Elijah by his shoulder. "You silly gooseberry. Why should that change anything? Of course not. I mean, I do tell him things, we are close and I don't want to deny that. But you're my brother, and I'll not tell him anything you don't want him to hear. I promise."

When Elijah turned around and faced her again, the relief in his eyes just about brought Connie to tears. "Thank you, Connie," he said. "I know you won't, but somehow I needed to hear you say it. It's just been the two of us for so long, telling our secrets to each other."

"And we'll go on doing that for as long as we live."

"I know ..."

"And what? Oh, you are a silly tonight." Connie slid closer and snuggled against Elijah's shoulder. "And what else?"

"He doesn't mind that I'm here, does he? It must be awfully hard for him."

"What? Oh, he's so glad you're here. He wants to know you more; he even told me so while we were waiting for you to come into dinner this evening."

"Did he? Oh, good. And it doesn't bother him that I ..."

"That what? Oh, you are obtuse tonight."

"It's just that I see him in his chair, and I think how lucky I am. Does it bother him?"

"Dearest, of course it doesn't ... that is, not any more than it bothers him to see _any_ man walking about on two good legs. And we've had this talk before, you know we have. You were too young to go though I know you would have, and for that I am eternally grateful."

"I know."

"Then, let's have no more of that for now. Come on. Tell me your story. I've been so worried about you. I can't tell you how relieved I am to have you with me safe and sound."

Elijah pulled away and lay flat on the bed, his hands under his head and his elbows poking toward the ceiling. Though he had longed and longed and longed to tell Connie everything, now that the moment was here, he felt shy of the details. Best to get them out as fast he could.

"Roger and I were dining in town."

"Pft."

"I know you don't like him, but really, he is my best friend."

"Go on. I'm sorry."

"We had a lot of champagne. Oh, it was so good. I'm afraid I drank more than I should have."

"And that wouldn't have taken much. You know what a poor head for drink you have. And what exactly do you mean that you drank more than you should have? What happened?"

"Well, I blacked out some time after ... and I don't remember anything until I woke up in my bed and that terrible woman was there with me. Oh, it was awful. And then Willis came barreling inside with my breakfast and saw her and me and just ... and it just was awful, Connie."

"Poor darling. What else do you remember?"

"It was strange, Roger was there."

"What? In your rooms?"

"No, I don't think so, though he must have helped me home the night before, very late. No, I saw him in the hall as she was leaving."

Connie sat up a little straighter, though she kept one hand on Elijah's shoulder. "Yes, I can imagine how he might have helped you. Darling, did you and he have a fight?"

"No, of course not. It was just a regular dinner, the way we often do. Except for me getting a little tiddly and silly, but he said he didn't mind."

"Didn't mind what? Did you get sick all over him?"

Elijah laughed. "No, I don't think so. No, I'm afraid I got a little, well, too affectionate toward him. Not much, but I put my hand on his knee and was a little maudlin, you know. I apologized afterwards, and he said to think nothing of it. Not to worry."

Connie sighed. "Oh, Elijah. That vicious little bastard. He must have set you up as payback."

Elijah turned toward Connie, his face pinched, his eyes enormous. "I know. Haven't been able to believe it. I keep pushing it away. He and I have been such great friends at Cambridge and before, at Harrow. But ... oh, Connie, there was this look on his face at the restaurant after I'd touched him and told him how much I cared for him. Like he'd just come across, I dunno ... like ..."

"Like what?" Connie whispered, pulling him into her arms and pressing his face against her shoulder.

"Like he'd run into a raddled old whore in the street, who'd propositioned him."

Elijah broke into tears and Connie held him for long moments as he wept away his   
disillusionment and hurt. Oh, how Connie longed to leave Wragby this very minute and find that vile Roger and give him a piece of her mind! And she would. Some day she would. But for now, she had Elijah to comfort so she rocked him in her arms, whispering, "Sshh ... it's all right now. I've got you. It's over."

At length, Elijah quieted. He said in a voice thick with tears, "I thought he was my friend."

"I know, baby. I know."

A loud sniff. "Does Clifford know?"

"Know what ... do you mean, does he know that you feel no desire for women?"

"Yes."

"Of course not."

"So you really don't tell him everything, do you? I thought you would."

"No, darling ... we are joined in our minds in many things but not everything. And I would not presume to betray you that way ... would not tell anyone without your permission."

"You're ashamed of me."

"No! Be reasonable. It is not the accepted thing, and though I know we have grown up outside the bounds of stuffiest society, nevertheless we do live within it to some extent. Even myself, stuck here in the country. So, no. I haven't told him and won't without your permission."

Elijah pulled away, and Connie wiped his face with a tissue she pulled from her pocket. "Thank you, Connie. It feels inexpressibly comfortable to be here with you at last."

"And here you shall stay as long as you want."

"Licking my wounds?"

Connie laughed as she got out of bed. "Yes, exactly. And I shall bind them up for you every night if you like until they disappear, as surely they will." She leaned down and kissed him. "Sleep tight. Try not to fret too much. See you in the morning." Gathering up the empty mugs and putting on her slippers, she made her way to the door.

She was just about to shut the door when Elijah remembered. "Oh, Connie! I almost forgot. I ran into this man on the edge of the wood. Cap on his head, rifle in his hand."

"That's Bean, the gamekeeper. Clifford hired him after the War. A good man from what Clifford says. Keeps the poachers out quite effectively."

Elijah snorted and settled back against his pillows.

"What?" Connie tilted her head.

"He was very rude."

"How so?"

"Said I should put my shoes back on or I should get a cold. Called me young sir."

Connie's lips twitched. "Sounds like good advice to me."

"Do you think he'd let me draw him?"

Connie said nothing in response, just left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. She drew her dressing gown around her more tightly for Wragby's hallways were cold at night, even as the hot green summer approached. She knew she couldn't protect him from everything, but this desire he had ... now it had ruined his college career, and she had no doubt that Roger was the one who arranged for the strumpet to be found in his bed. No doubt at all. Not after what Elijah had just told her.

Following her own advice to Elijah, Connie didn't fret too long. Instead she grinned as she imagined the dour-visaged Bean posing for Elijah, remembering the barked orders to "keep still, Connie!" that she'd received in the past.


	2. Germination

The woods were calling to Elijah.

Unfortunately, so was Clifford.

For a moment, Elijah stood still on the lawn, looking toward the boundary where the curve of grass met the tall fence of trees. It had never occurred to him before, but now it struck him very strongly. How was this tidy boundary between civilized lawn and untamed woodland maintained, and with such apparent ease, at that? Turning round, he thought to wave at Clifford, but settled for a nod and a shout. He laughed to himself as he clutched his sketchpad under one arm and his folding stool under the other.

"Coming!"

He didn't like to admit it, but he was a little nervous about being alone with Clifford, and not just because he felt awkward on his two sturdy legs when poor Clifford had to make do with a wheelchair. No, it was more than that. The few times he'd been in Clifford's company before, there had just been something a little, well, brisk and abrupt for ease. He'd felt at sea, as though there was nothing in common between them and never could be. Except for Connie, of course. And she seemed to love him, at least, well enough to join her life to his; by all accounts from her it was turning out well, though with unexpected difficulties arising from Clifford's crippling war injury.

There was a fountain in the middle of the lawn at Wragby, not terribly large but of a graceful size for the house whose grounds it adorned, with leaping dolphins and what looked like a rather pudgy Cupid all sporting together under the continuous spray of water spouting from the putto's mouth. It was there that Elijah met Clifford, the latter having maneuvered his sputtering gas-powered chair with ease to the fountain.

"Sleep well, Elijah?" Clifford asked, or rather, shouted above the roar of the chair's engine.

_Heavens, what a racket_, Elijah thought as he leaned his stool against the edge of the fountain. He shouted back at the top of his voice, "Yes, thank you! Very well!" just as Clifford shut off the motor.

Elijah snapped his mouth shut but it was too late, and he stood next to Clifford, shuffling his feet and wishing his embarrassment did not show up quite so brilliantly red on his face. He'd always thought that he'd grow out of blushing like a bright poppy when he got older but had recently begun to doubt the possibility of overcoming his disability.

Clifford laughed in that sharp bark that never sounded merry to Elijah, but when he spoke, both his words and his voice were kindly. "A fine day for sketching out of doors, Elijah. What are you planning on drawing today?"

"I was thinking of getting into the woods and seeing what I might find ... I'm afraid I don't always plan what I'm going to draw ahead of time."

Clifford said, "Oh, well, that's nice of course ..." But as he spoke, the timbre of his voice slid into a sort of wistfulness that startled Elijah, though he had no idea of how to respond properly.

Eventually, he said, "Well, yes, it is. At least it seems that way to me. Would you prefer that I not do that, Sir Clifford?"

"No, no ... oh, please, and not so formal. We are family now, aren't we, Elijah?"

Clifford smiled when he said that but he barely met Elijah's eyes before looking away toward the edge of the wood, and it struck Elijah that Clifford was a little shy. It hadn't occurred to Elijah before since Clifford seemed all bluster and giving orders with military precision and emitting his barking laughter with his high red complexion, but there it was. He was shy around Elijah and didn't really know how to talk to him.

"Yes, of course," Elijah said quickly. He took a deep breath and went on in a rush. "Was there something that you wanted me to draw in particular? You've only to ask, you know."

Clifford's eyes were bright bright blue as he faced Elijah again, and the pleased smile on his face only made them seem that much more brilliant, as though the sun had come out and brightened the sky after being behind a cloud. Clifford leaned forward a little in his chair and said, "Now that you ask, I'll tell you. I've always wanted to see some fine drawings of Wragby, don't think there's ever been any really good ones made. At least nothing more than a primitive daub. This fountain here ... I've been told it's a fine one and have always thought a good drawing or painting of it would look well in the conservatory. Though of course I expect you've seen finer in your travels."

Elijah murmured, "Not at all." _A fountain_, he thought. _He wants me to draw his fountain. Well, the dolphins aren't too bad, but that cupid ... Right_. "I'd be delighted," he said aloud and stepped back to take in the fountain's proportions more carefully. More professionally.

"Splendid! May I stay and watch the artist at work?"

Elijah grinned. "Of course."

After pacing slowly around the fountain, taking in its various aspects and views, Elijah set up his folding stool in such a way that the wood lay behind the fountain, the pale grey stone outlined against the shades of green in the distance. He thought that would do nicely for a first sketch, though he suspected that Clifford would have probably preferred the fountain as seen against the backdrop of the house. Well, he could speak up if that's what he wanted.

But Clifford remained silent, though he kept his eyes on Elijah and took in all the young man's movements. It fair took his breath away at how agilely he moved, with nary a superfluous step or motion. Though Elijah struck Clifford as being rather an esthete, here, with his drawing implements in hand and his quarry in view, he was in his element, and Clifford always admired that in a man. It was the first thing he'd found to admire in Elijah.

They were silent at first when Elijah began drawing, his pencil strokes quick and sure now that he was certain of his subject and catching the rhythm of this particular drawing. Yes, he would draw the fountain in strong, dark lines and merely suggest the wood behind it in a fainter, more impressionistic manner. If it came out well compositionally, he'd do another but in color. For now, the various shades he could elicit from the graphite pencil would have to do to suggest not only the different colors but their variation in material texture and chiaroscuro. Perhaps later he'd have Connie sit on the edge of the fountain ... or better yet superimpose Clifford. Surely Clifford would like that.

It was a still sunny afternoon with only the occasional birdcall disturbing the silence. That and the scratch of Elijah's pencil across the thick ivory drawing paper.

At length, Clifford broke the silence though he spoke quietly. "I hope you won't find it too dull here after the bustle and excitement of Cambridge."

Elijah arrested the motion of his pencil and held it poised above the paper, though he was a little too late to prevent the curve of a dolphin's tail going a little astray. No matter. It was easily fixed. As he rubbed away at the errant mark, he said in a voice as quiet as Clifford's had been, "Actually, dullness is exactly what I'm hoping for. Though perhaps it's better to say peace and quiet rather than dullness, since I enjoy both your and Connie's company very much."

"Oh yes, of course, of course ... clumsy of me. Sorry, Elijah."

Elijah started to say, "Don't think anything of it." But his words broke off half-unspoken for he saw Bean approaching from the forest, his gun in his hand. A dog ran before him, black and taffy colored with a plumy tail that waved as he lollopped before Bean and behind him and circling about him.

Bean made straight for Clifford, tapped his cap in salutation, and snapped his fingers to bring his dog to heel. "Your Lordship." It's possible that at this point he cast a quick sidelong glance at Elijah, though it was so quick that Elijah thought he might be mistaken.

"Ah, Bean. What news?" Clifford asked, his voice pitched a shade higher and sharper than when he was speaking with Elijah.

Before Bean began speaking, he glanced at Elijah again, and this time Elijah was sure of it for he felt that look curl his toes through the supple soles of his shoes. Elijah bent over his sketchpad again as Clifford and Bean discussed a poacher Bean had been trailing for some time. Unaccountably, Elijah found that he needed to shift his stool a bit to gain a better perspective. Yes, that was better; it gave him a much better view of the blasted Cupid's rather bulbous thighs and bottom. It wasn't important, but he now had a better view of Bean as well, not that he was looking.

_Bean's thighs aren't fat. Damn_. Another blush crept up Elijah's throat, but he was pleased that the two men were deep in their conversation for it gave him the opportunity to observe Bean quite easily even though he kept his head down. All that was getting in his way was a hank of overly long hair that kept flopping in his eyes.

Well, Bean was certainly not exactly the acme of fashionable attire, Elijah thought with a little sniff. Not that he'd ever have the opportunity or need. Anyway, it would just be wasted on a gamekeeper of his rough sort. But Bean's clothes suited him; Elijah had to admit that. And though they were all of similar shades of browns and greens, they were also a riot of texture. Corduroy trousers with a thick wale that looked like it must feel like rough velvet to fingers that could distinguish such things. A tan shirt open at the throat that looked as though it had been laundered hundreds of times. A woolen jacket though the day was warm. The wool looked like it must feel scratchy, that is to tender skin. Bean certainly did not give the appearance of having tender skin, or tender anything else. All in all, rough country clothes made for years of wear and tear. But even within their indifferent make and material, Elijah could not miss how well-proportioned the man was, how slim of hip and broad of shoulder he was. And powerful. Though he stood with his cap in his hands out of deference to Clifford, nevertheless this man was subservient to no one. The power fair radiated from his body.

Elijah stopped for a moment to rub his hand, scraping a bit at the ink-stained callous on his middle finger. No matter how hard he scrubbed his hands, he could never completely rid himself of this one little stain on his otherwise pale fingers.

It seemed to Elijah that it was quite possible that Bean's hands were never completely clean either. After all, how could they be, given his occupation and station in life? But all the dirt beneath his nails and the gun oil on his hands could not disguise the fine slenderness of his fingers. And with his cap in hand, Elijah was also able to take in the well-made features of his face and green eyes, his sandy hair cut short, shorter than Elijah's floppy Cambridge coiffure.

Though Elijah had not been keeping track of Clifford and Bean's conversation, being occupied with observations of a more artistic nature, he was alert to when it was almost over for Bean signaled its impending completion by putting his cap back on his head.

Clifford said in a loud voice, "Yes, keep after them, Bean. Oh, have you met my brother-in-law, Elijah Reid?"

Bean met Elijah's eyes at last, and there were no more quick sliding glances. He was facing away from Clifford, which made Elijah wonder if he would keep his countenance polite. He did, that is, Bean kept the expression on his face carefully blank and respectful—except for his eyes raking up and down Elijah's body and darting bold looks at his sketchpad.

For a moment, Elijah held his breath, half hoping and half fearful that Bean would say something about how foolish he had behaved the night before, like a child afraid of the dark woods. But Bean didn't say anything. And Elijah thought that perhaps he caught a glimmer of something in Bean's eyes, perhaps a greeting. Or maybe it was a plea not to say anything in front of Clifford. Well, he had been terribly forward the night before rather than properly respectful as was Elijah's due as brother-in-law to Sir Clifford.

So now was the time for Elijah to get his due respect, just as he'd shouted at Bean's disappearing back the night before. But now he didn't want to.

Elijah slipped his pencil in his jacket pocket and shook his head. "No," he said. "We haven't met. I hope you won't mind my walking in the woods while I'm here."

"Tis not for me to say, sir," Bean answered, his eyes shadowed again and unfathomable now that his cap was pulled low over his forehead.

"Ah," Clifford said. "Elijah is an artist, or so he will be, as his father has been before him. I expect you'll run across him in the woods scribbling away."

"Aye. Good afternoon."

Without another word, Bean left, his dog trotting at his heels. He disappeared through a small gap in the trees. Elijah watched him as he left. At first he was able to keep track of his vanishing form, but soon the earth-toned jacket and trousers merged with the wood and Elijah could see him no more. But still he watched, not looking for Bean any more exactly though aware of him still, but admiring of the leaves and the sun, the dappled lacelike effect of the light. So green. The light was green and it grew deeper but not black the further into the wood he peered. It became a deep green vault, and Bean merged into it with every step he took that drew him deeper into its living core.

* * *

From a distance, the Wragby woods had appeared virtually impenetrable to Elijah, its growth so dense and entangled that he was surprised that anyone could enter it and not become lost within a few minutes.

But that was before he'd had the opportunity to seek out its ways and learn its paths. For there were paths there, neatly maintained paths winding among the hazel and ash trees, and Elijah was learning their ways. It seemed a proper reward for the past few days of acting the dutiful brother-in-law with Clifford. It was worth it, too, for the smile on Clifford's face when he'd seen the completed drawing of the fountain with the woods in the distance was payment indeed of the most gratifying sort to an artist.

So today Elijah finally passed the edge of the woods. It was another glorious warm day, and so he let himself drift along the paths, always seeking a way inward, breathing the green scent gratefully. The twisted ropes of anger and fear and anxiety that he'd brought with him from Cambridge had been loosening during his first days at Wragby. And now, as he stepped slowly along the path, his feet scuffing among the dry brittle leaves on the ground, the last rope uncoiled and slid away from him, leaving him free.

It wasn't all winding paths, and Elijah learned this about half an hour into the woods when he found a little clearing large enough for a small wooden shed and several ramshackle pens.

But Elijah was not to remain the sole possessor of the glory of the late springtime woods that day. Bean was there, hammer in hand and nails in his mouth as he crouched beside a rectangular pen of wooden frame and wire netting. His cap was off, and his face damp with the sweat of his efforts. Bean looked up but did not stand when Elijah stepped into the clearing. Instead, he leaned back on his haunches and nodded at Elijah.

"Afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Bean."

They stared at each other for a minute. When Elijah felt the familiar flush creep up his neck, he looked away and then, his curiosity stronger than his shyness, came closer to Bean.

"What are you doing?" Elijah asked.

Bean answered courteously but not exactly loquaciously, and certainly without a hint of a smile on his face. "Fixin' the pheasant cages for the nestin' that's to come soon. They must have their proper homes t' thrive."

"Of course," Elijah said, not that he had any idea of the ways of pheasants, other than eating them with relish.

With that Bean returned to his task, and Elijah watched his quick, neat movements. Bean's jacket was off today and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing lightly-haired strong forearms. When he bent to nail down some netting, the pose struck Elijah forcefully with a remembrance of a statue of a naked athlete, something seen years ago in some dusty little museum in an Umbrian hill town.

In a second Elijah was kneeling down, his pencil in hand and sketchbook open. If he'd seen a photograph of the two of them at that moment, he might have been surprised to see that their bodies held similar poses, both of them lost in concentration on the task at hand. But Elijah saw only Bean before him, and all he knew was that there was something about the curve of Bean's long limbs that called to him. Even under the thick corduroy of his trousers, the line of lean muscle and sinew was apparent. Palpable.

Perhaps hearing Elijah's pencil on paper, Bean looked up and smiled. Almost. It was almost a smile. Elijah smiled back. A real smile.

After a moment, Bean shifted, his task complete and his pose broken.

Elijah barked out, "No ... don't move. I'm not finished."

Bean looked up again, surprise rippling across his face before his features set in shadowed, harsh lines. He stood up, and it seemed to Elijah that he loomed over him larger than life. His voice was a low rasp. "You may not be, my little lord, but I am."

* * *

It was a narrow path, used mostly by badgers and foxes and prickly gamekeepers, and it led to the heart of the wood. The way was so narrow that Bean had to hold branches of blackberry brambles away from his face lest their thorns catch him, not that he would have felt anything so trivial as a scratch at that point. Not when all sensation in his body was localized into one particular place.

_"Damn him."_

These woods had been his sanctuary since he'd come home from the War, outwardly undamaged. But now something had intruded into the safety of his solitary days, something with a name.

Elijah.

He finally rested when he came to a swift stream, tearing off his boots and clothes until he was naked and slipped into the water to cool himself, the soft silt of the stream's bed soothing to his hot feet.

It's not that he hadn't seen such a thing before. He knew what such a desire looked like, had recognized it in Elijah's eyes, first when they'd met by the fountain and just now in the clearing. He'd even approved of it when he'd seen it in the trenches when man turned to man in love. Yes, he'd approved of anything that had beaten back the cold stench of spiritual death and bodily decay, though he had not experienced such love himself. But was it possible, was it good for this to happen in times of peace, when the harmony of society needed to be maintained? And wasn't that a harmony that needed to be balanced between man and woman only?

_"My little lord."_


	3. Root and Stem

"And what shall you do today, Elijah?" With his head cocked to one side for Elijah's answer, Clifford tucked his napkin into the throat of his shirt and dug into his scrambled eggs and bacon. After forking up a mouthful, he nodded at Elijah's plate, which looked bare compared to his own. "Only having toast? Not hungry, eh? Going to just laze about in the heat today, are you?"

"Now, Clifford," Connie said, sliding into her seat. "He'll most likely take something with him when he goes out."

"Will he? And where might he be going that he'll need such provisions?"

Elijah smiled, folded his hands across his chest, and sat back in his seat. "I don't know. Haven't decided. I shall go outside and see where my muse leads me. Er, if she's not trying to sleep through the heat, which she quite probably will ... don't blame her, either."

Clifford threw his head back and laughed. Connie and Elijah shared a smile. Oh, it was so inexpressibly good to have her darling boy here, and such a relief to see how well he was fitting into their quiet life. He'd absolutely perked Clifford up, and it was a treat to see and hear. The thing was, Connie hadn't been sure how the two of them would get on together, and though there was a certain level of incomprehension on Clifford's part (and Elijah's, though Connie's love always clouded her view of her baby brother), nevertheless the two men most important to her in the entire world were finding their way to a more than amicable relationship. Perhaps one day soon they would call each other "brother" and truly mean it.

When Clifford finished laughing, he said, "Perhaps your muse might see its way to instructing you to begin another study of the property ... now that the first one has worked out so well." As he spoke, Clifford nodded toward the newly hung water color drawing of the fountain that Elijah had worked on the past few days. It hung in the conservatory where they were now having their breakfast, and Clifford found it a welcome addition. Whatever Elijah's faults of youth and peculiar predilections were, his skills as an artist were true.

It was Elijah's turn to laugh, though if pressed he would have admitted that he strung out his amusement to give himself some time to come up with an appropriate excuse that wouldn't be insulting to his host. After all, he and Clifford were getting on so well, and he didn't want to do anything to change that, especially when he stole a glance at Connie and saw the happy flush on her cheeks that he knew came from watching the two of them enjoying each other's company. Though she'd never said much to him about it, Elijah knew that she'd worried that he and Clifford would be like oil and water together.

Connie was the one who rescued Elijah this time, certainly not some insubstantial muse. "Oh, I think Elijah's earned a respite from your commissions. Anyway, I know a place he might like in this heat ... and I suspect it will tempt his muse out of her lethargy even today."

"Tell me!" Clifford said, leaning across the table toward Connie. She whispered in his ear, and he nodded his head violently. "Perfect!" Bracing himself with his palm, he straightened again on his chair. "And oh, yes, Elijah. Have cook pack you a picnic lunch. It's the perfect day for it. I've spent many hours there myself, though of course not in years, but I have the gardeners keep everything tidy ... well, tidy isn't quite the word, but I do have them keep it in decent shape for the occasional special visitor."

Elijah looked from one to the other. "Well? Aren't you going to tell me?"

* * *

In the middle of the wood, there was a pond. Two paths led to it—one ran from the house in a near straight fashion, and another meandered from the small shack used by Wragby's gamekeeper.

Elijah came to the pond by way of the crooked path, though it wasn't because he hadn't seen the shorter, straighter way when he entered the wood laden with his lunch and his drawing equipment. Thanks to Connie's clear directions, he'd seen it right away and known where it led, but his feet drew him onto the more tangled way.

"Be good to take a little more exercise," he'd mumbled out loud as he set off, though only the birds and the trees were there to hear him.

It was very quiet when he arrived at the gamekeeper's clearing. Even the pheasants made no sound when he leaned over their pens, except for a quick rustle of feathers before they settled back down. Well. Nothing in particular to see here after all. Not that he'd wanted to meet up with Bean again, certainly not; he'd only come this way for the exercise before the day grew too hot to do anything but slump down in any scrap of shade on offer. Anyway, Bean was a most impertinent and rude man, especially at their last meeting, and Elijah certainly did not want another unpleasant scene with him, not when he'd come to Wragby for peace and quiet. He'd come here to escape incidents fraught with high emotion and replace them with tranquil afternoons by cool ponds, drawing nothing wilder than a tangle of flowering morning glory vines that might wind about a thick tree trunk or fence post before trailing into placid, still water.

_So why didn't you go straight to the pond? It's not like this place was on the way._

"I don't know."

He stood for a few minutes in the middle of the clearing, resting and catching his breath, stilling the unruly thoughts in his head. Though the day was not yet too far advanced, the air was so close and warm that carrying his sketching supplies and his picnic lunch had winded him enough so that he panted a little, his mouth hanging open. He took a moment to mop his forehead with a clean handkerchief and to roll up his shirt sleeves. It had been clean when he'd put it on a few hours ago, but he had no doubt that it was damp and stained with more than just his sweat after brushing against leaves and branches along the overgrown path.

He started again to make his way to what now seemed to him to be the mythical pond ("if Connie and Clifford were telling a tale about this, they shall pay this evening, and won't they just!"). In a matter of minutes the sweat streamed down his face once more, and it almost seemed as if he hadn't wiped it clean before.

Fortunately for Connie and Clifford's sake, the pond was real, though Elijah stood at the edge of its clearing and blinked at it stupidly for a few minutes before making his way to its edge. It was oval, and the cloudy green water was speckled with leaves for a grandfather of all willow trees held sway at one end with spreading branches that leaned this way and that, even dipping into the water here and there as though it were paddling its fingertips to cool itself from the unrelenting sun. The late morning air was still and warm and quiet. Not even a breeze ruffled the freshly-mown grass ("ah, so that's what Clifford meant") and leaves. The only things in motion were two ducks paddling slowly through the water, leaving a wide zigzagging trail behind them.

"Oh, it looks so cool," Elijah murmured as he loosened his tie and drew it off, looping it around his hand for the moment. "It looks wonderful."

Elijah forgot all his tiredness and most of his stickiness as he trotted over to the tree and dropped down on the ground beneath it, his picnic basket and drawing supplies landing in a jumble by his side. From the edge of the clearing, the shade beneath the tree hadn't appeared quite so dim, but once he'd settled and taken a moment to look around, Elijah sighed happily, for it was cool and green and dark and completely delightful. The sun was truly fierce this day, and he hadn't realized he'd been squinting until just a moment before, so a little shade did not come amiss, especially since his skin burned so easily.

Oh, his feet were hot. What an encumbrance shoes were on such a day! Elijah sat up and stripped them and his socks off in a moment, then smiled as the grass and leaves and damp earth soothed the hot, prickly soles of his feet. Why was it that one could stand just about anything if one's feet were comfortable?

His stomach chose that moment to grumble in impatience, as though it realized that a roast chicken was waiting for him in his lunch basket. Or perhaps it was reminding him of his parsimonious breakfast that now seemed hours past. But a quick look out over the pond, the sun sparkling on its surface, made Elijah forget all about his stomach.

He stood up and stripped off his shirt and cream flannel trousers. They joined his discarded tie in a little heap on the ground. After staring down at his drawers for a minute, he unbuttoned them and slipped them off before taking the few steps toward the pond's grassy shore. After all, this was private property so it was unlikely that he would be disturbed by anyone. Anyway, hadn't Clifford said that hardly anyone ever came here? And how wistful Clifford's voice had sounded when he said it. Elijah had registered its timbre and had dimly realized why it might have been so, but now that he had arrived at this secret glade, Clifford's loss washed over him as sharply as the sun had struck his face while he had walked away from the stone house toward the green grown wood. Straight as the path was, it seemed unlikely to Elijah that Clifford's motorized wheel chair could negotiate it with any success.

"I'm sorry, Clifford," Elijah said. "Thank you. It's beautiful here."

Oh yes, there was no reason to maintain even a modicum of modesty here. Social niceties aside, he wanted nothing between the water and his skin; he needed to feel its caress against every inch of his body—between his bare thighs as he stroked across the pond's glassy surface and scissored his legs, and running down his chest when he chose to stand up. He even wanted to lie wet on the grass in the sun and feel each drop of water dry on his chest and legs until he felt his skin tingle and prickle from the heat and needed to take refuge under the tree.

But for a start, he would settle for washing away a little of the dust and sweat that had accumulated during his journey from house through wood to watery reward.

"I shall slough it all away," he said and then laughed and stepped into the water from the pond's edge, the grainy coating of mud on the bottoms of his feet indeed washing away as he waded deeper into the refreshing water. It grew cooler the further he went, the faint surface warmth fading into a delightful chill that can only be truly enjoyed by those who have earned it by heated activity.

_Oh._

The water dragged around his ankles, then his knees and thighs, the soft silt on the pond floor like the most luxurious carpet brushing against the soles of his feet and pressing between his toes. If he'd been a plant, he would have been like one which had been deprived of water for too many days and now was soaking it up through every pore—filling and straightening stem and branch and leaf.

When Elijah finally took the plunge and submersed himself completely, the water's chill almost shocked him. The transition from humid heat to cold water was that much of a contrast and Elijah liked it. As he surfaced and swam the dozen or so strokes needed to reach the center of the pond, he thought how delightful it would be if he grew too cold in the water and had to actually retreat to the shore to warm himself up.

On the other hand, perhaps a compromise might be reached.

Elijah floated on his back, his arms spread out from his side and his fingers fluttering against yellow willow leaves as they eddied past him, his legs cycling in slow motion.

Perfect.

He closed his eyes and drifted.

* * *

The skin across Elijah's nose felt tight and thin. His eyelids tingled, and he contemplated opening them though he was enjoying the filtered reddish light. He fancied he could see the veins on his eyelids, that the sun was bright enough to map out each tiny capillary for his inspection. Perhaps he should make a drawing of it.

A rustle of feet sliding through grass was enough to make Elijah finally open his eyes. How peculiar. There was an upside down man and dog at water's edge, and they were peering at him with tongue hanging out.

Well, the dog had her tongue hanging out. The man was a little more circumspect about staring at his nudity, though Elijah had to bite his lip to avoid laughing when he saw Bean quickly avert his gaze.

How odd. He should feel at a disadvantage being caught completely naked, floating in the water with his penis bobbing up and down gently like a fleshy buoy. In fact, he did not feel that way at all, though he did slip down in the water to cover himself.

It was the dog who proved to be most bold. She flung herself with a happy woof into the water and first waded, then swam toward Elijah.

"Hello, girl!" Elijah said as she reached him, and they both dog paddled in a circle in the midst of the pond. Elijah nodded at Bean. "What's her name?"

"Annie."

"Hello, Annie, girl," Elijah whispered to the dog, who licked his face once before heading back to shore. Bean started to back away from her, but he was too slow, for Annie had already had enough of a swim to cool herself off and she heaved herself onto the shore and shook herself off, the spray of water dousing Bean before he'd gotten out of the way.

Bean laughed. "You daft thing," he said, kneeling down next to Annie and running his hand over her head. "Shall ye soak me, then?"

Elijah called out, "Come on in! The water's fine."

"Right." Bean stood up, already unbuttoning his shirt as he walked around the shore to the tree and leaned his gun against its trunk. Elijah tread water and watched him as he finished undressing.

_He's brown all over._

With a shout, Bean ran into the water and dove straight in, streaking beneath the water like a sleek fish, finally surfacing next to Elijah and laughing.

_So he can laugh and smile._

"Oh, 'tis a good day for this, aye?" asked Bean.

In answer, Elijah splashed him, his hands cupped at water's edge and moving quickly, and for a few minutes they both forgot their previous encounters and what they meant. Splashing beget pushing and pushing beget chasing, and they swam round and round the pond, all the time with Annie advancing and retreating on the shore, barking her encouragement.

There was a large rock at the tree end of the pond. It was flat and sloped at a gentle angle into the water, and there they finally pulled themselves out for a rest. Elijah flopped on his back, one knee bent up with his head pillowed on one arm, and watched as Bean turned on his stomach, sluicing the water off his narrow flanks with his hands.

It was Elijah who spoke first. He saw something on Bean's shoulder and stretched out his hand though he did not touch the man. It looked like a furrow, like a little plough line running over the curve of his shoulder onto his back. "How did you get that?"

Bean raised up on his elbows and looked around before settling on his stomach again with a soft grunt. "That? The Marne. Almost made it through t' the end without a scratch. German machine gunner had other ideas about me."

"That's not too bad then, is it?"

"I reckon not."

Elijah flushed then, for he did not know what it had meant to be there. He could not know how it had been, how it had been for either Bean or for Clifford, and he wanted to at least try to understand a little.

He said, "At least not so bad as for Sir Clifford after all." It wasn't a question, but for some reason the tone of his voice raised at the end of his statement, and he was glad when Bean answered him, confusing as the answer was.

"No? Were you there, lad?"

"Well, no, but I mean, you've still got the use of all your limbs and can go about on your business. He can't. Ever."

The smile was gone from Bean's face—from his eyes—when he spoke again. "Aye, that's true. But I haven't got a passel of servants seein' to my every want night and day, cartin' me about and singin' me to sleep."

Elijah digested that for a minute. Not all injuries were of the flesh, and he knew that well, but still ... He thought to pursue this line of questioning, but the look in Bean's eyes told him not to, not to ruin their easy way this afternoon. So he didn't, and they lay in the sun and let it dry their bodies and warm their skin.

When Elijah's stomach grumbled, Bean looked up and cocked an eye. "What's that?"

"Lunch time, I think. Are you hungry?"

"Aye. Have you brought summat to eat?"

"Yes, I've plenty ... though you will have to pay a price."

"Oh?"

"Let me draw you after we eat, that is if you don't bite off my head first."

* * *

Bean lay draped over the rock. He was warm and his naked body eagerly absorbed every ray of the sun. His muscles and bones felt loose and free; even the bullet furrow on his shoulder only tightened a little when he shifted on his smooth bed. The only sounds he heard were pleasing and comforting though the last was new to him and should have been strange—his dog muttering and whiffling as she slept next to Elijah; the occasional splash and quack from the ducks at the far end of the pond; the continuous scratch of charcoal on paper as Elijah sketched.

He felt molded to the rock as though it were the softest mattress he'd ever lain on. Every now and then he dabbled his feet in the water to cool off a bit. Even more often he squinted open an eye and stole a glance at Elijah sitting cross-legged beneath the tree and industriously working away, seemingly oblivious to their closeness, his damp hair hanging over his forehead and wet patches of pond water still darkening his drawers.

_What're you doing here, lad?_

"He needs a place to stay. I am his sister and I shall never turn him away."

"He's a disgrace. The young pup."

Bean hadn't intended to eavesdrop precisely and had coughed to make his presence known. Both Connie and Clifford had quieted immediately, casting nervous glances at each other as Bean had walked steadily around the corner of the house to make his report. Of course Bean hadn't asked anything. If one could say anything about Bean other than that he was a dour man of few words, it was that he had an exquisite understanding of his position in life as well as an appreciation for the healing sanctuary that Wragby's wood offered him after the war.

Two days after overhearing the scrap of conversation between the master of Wragby Hall and his wife, he'd walked out of the wood in the twilight to find Elijah standing at its edge and peering in. The light had been dim that evening, but today everything was golden and bright and clear.

Bean leaned up on an elbow. Elijah looked up, an inquiring smile spreading across his face.

Bean spoke, his words coming out slowly for he was hesitant about beginning something.

_It's already begun._

"And what are you recovering from, my little lord?"


	4. Flower

"Darling, you look like a lobster."

Elijah smiled, the pillow smooth against his lips. "I think I can safely say that I now know what it feels like to be tossed into a pot of boiling water. Ouch!"

"I'm sorry, but really, I must get this on you. It will help."

Elijah gritted his teeth as Connie smoothed the pale green cream over his back. At least it was cool, something sorely welcome in more ways than one. "What's in it? It does feel awfully nice, that is, once I get over the searing pain of your smearing it on."

With a low laugh, Connie said, as she continued to spread the cream onto Elijah's skin, "A mixture of aloe gel and marigold extract. It will help you heal. But really, Elijah, you know you must be careful with your skin. What ever possessed you to stay in the sun so long when you know how easily you burn? Turn over. Let's get your front now."

Before turning over, Elijah tugged the sheet up to cover himself to the waist. It was one thing for her to see his bare bottom, but some things were a little too much to ask of sisterly devotion. After easing over in gingerly stages, wincing as the sheets rasped against his skin like sandpaper on open sores, he smiled up at Connie. "There. Do your worst. Pay no attention to my shrieks of agony."

That earned Elijah a rather large serving of salve being slapped on his forehead. "Hey!"

"Oh, you are a terrible baby. I hope it was worth it."

Elijah closed his eyes and concentrated on the coolness of the cream being spread over his face, then down his throat and shoulders. At least it smelled nice. When Connie had appeared in his room brandishing a small glass pot and ordered him to undress and lie down, he had expected it would reek of, well, he didn't know what, but he hadn't expected it would be anything pleasant.

"Well, yes, it was worth it, actually."

"Hmm, good. I think," Connie murmured, working down Elijah's torso before tugging his bare legs out from the sheets to give them a good coating. When Elijah said nothing in return, it irritated her for he had that smug grin on his face that said he knew something but wasn't divulging. "Come on ... spill, or I shall give you an oatmeal scrub."

Elijah's eyes flew open, and he gave Connie his best guileless-as-a-baby look. When Connie responded with a delicate don't-try-that-with-me-young-man snort, he said, "You are very cruel to me. All I did was enjoy a nice afternoon at the pond, and you threaten me with more torment. And have you forgotten that you're the one who directed me there, hm?"

"No, I haven't forgotten, and don't _you_ change the subject. Remember, I know you too well, Elijah Reid. Now. Shall I go for the oatmeal? It's really terribly scratchy, you know, even without a sunburn."

"Witch. Hey!" A gentle slap against his thigh didn't feel gentle at all. "All right, all right. He let me draw him," Elijah mumbled.

"What? Who?"

_"You_ know. The gamekeeper."

Connie's mouth fell open. "What?" A large scoop of the cream dripped from her hand and fell onto Elijah's belly with a gentle splat. That seemed to bring Connie out of her astonishment. "Oh! I'm sorry, Elijah, but you did startle me."

"Never mind." Elijah spread the cream across his belly with the flat of his palm. That did feel good now that some of the heat of his burn had been eased.

When Elijah said no more of his afternoon with Bean, pretending instead to be wholly absorbed in evenly distributing the salve, Connie huffed in impatience, wisps of hair blowing away from her face from her irritated puff of breath. "That oatmeal is still waiting. For you. I'd shake it out of you, but I'm kinder than that."

Oh, Elijah loved it when Connie's eyes sparkled with interest and irritation. Not that he wanted her to stay mad at him; nothing frightened him more than the thought of Connie's good regard and love being taken away. He reached out and stroked her hand. "I'm sorry. I was just having a little fun."

"Well, you've had it. Now tell me everything. You'll excuse me from cuddling with you while you tell me."

"Oh, yes, I certainly will!" Elijah laughed before pulling the sheet up to his chest and giving Connie the bare bones of his afternoon with Bean. It made him crow inside a little to see the look on her face as he told of their swimming together

"Bean? Swimming?"

"Yes, and splashing, too."

"Well, well. How cozy."

"Tcha. It wasn't like that," Elijah said, but he smiled anyway at the thought for it was a very pleasant thought indeed and he certainly wasn't going to deny it, at least to himself.

Connie set the pot of cream on the bedside table and tightened the sash on her robe, the lively interest in her expression fading to one of concern.

"What?" Elijah said. "It was very pleasant and innocent, nothing more. Though ..."

"Though what?" Connie asked.

"I'm not sure, but I think I insulted him. I didn't mean to."

"Well, I'm sure you didn't, but he's more than a little prickly. Tell me." She leaned over and tucked a stray strand of hair back from his cheek.

"He has a scar from the war. On his shoulder. He said it came from a German machine gunner. I said something about how lucky he was that hadn't been injured more severely, said something about Clifford being so much worse off. He didn't get angry, but I could tell I'd said something wrong."

"Well, of course you did. I know you didn't mean it, but really, Elijah."

"What?"

"You are a dense thing sometimes. Just because he only has a small physical wound doesn't mean that it wasn't absolutely awful for him. He was in the trenches. I cannot even begin to imagine the things he saw and experienced, and Clifford's told me more than a few things about them. And by all accounts, he's not had much comfort to come home to, not that I've ever discussed it with him, of course. That wouldn't do at all."

"What do you mean by comfort?"

"His wife left him while he was away. She's a dreadful sluttish thing, ran off with another man."

"He's married?"

"Yes, though I don't think he's heard from her in ages. Rather prefers it that way now, I think. From the village gossip that I've heard, that is. As I said, it would not be proper to ask him directly. He's been a good gamekeeper at Wragby and has been discreet in his behavior when he's not working, which is all we ask."

"I didn't know," Elijah said, realizing how inadequate those three words were. "I shall apologize when I see him next."

"Oh, you are thick," Connie said, bending over and kissing him lightly on his forehead before standing up. "You could have been a little more understanding, but I suspect apologizing would only make it worse. You'd do best by keeping away from him altogether."

There was something in Connie's eyes that made him wonder, but he couldn't place the expression. She seemed not quite angry but, well, impatient with him in a new, murky way. "I'm not a child, Connie. I may not have said the kindest thing to him today, but I don't see any reason to stay away from that pond or from him if he happens to be there when I am."

"Just be a little careful. He's a dangerous man in his way." The look in Connie's eyes softened into something knowable and familiar, her constant concern for her baby brother though of course he was a baby no more. "I worry about you."

Elijah smiled. "I know. And truly, what trouble can I get into? It's not like I'm going to proposition him, you know."

Connie tilted her head and nodded. "Oh?"

It was a good thing Elijah's face was already bright red. That way Connie couldn't see him blush at his fib.

_Oh._

_I think I'll proposition him. How? Dunno._

_He has a wife._

_She left._

_He's not like you._

"You can't possibly have anything in common." Connie's voice was soft, almost inaudible to Elijah. "I probably have more in common with him than you do. Not that I find him interesting."

_Maybe not._

_I do. _

"He's easy to talk to," Elijah said.

"Is he?" Connie's voice grew sharp. "And what else did you talk about?"

_I told him why I'm here. Well, not everything. Not yet ..._

For the first time in his life, Elijah did not want to tell Connie a secret. It wasn't that he did not trust her with it, and after all, Connie well knew the secret within the secret. Not that his expulsion and the reason for it was exactly a mystery any more, though he thought it likely that few at Wragby knew many of the details. Bean hadn't. But the sharpness in Connie's voice alerted him to a change; though it might mean nothing more than a little sisterly possessiveness on her part, in a split second Elijah decided it was worth keeping his own counsel for the moment, unnerving though the prospect was.

"Nothing in particular. His dog. Her name is Annie." Elijah yawned and hoped it looked real.

Connie bent over and kissed his cheek. "Good night," she said and put out the light. "Sweet dreams."

"Good night. Thank you for my treatment. I feel better already."

After Connie left, Elijah lay in the darkness, enjoying the relief that the aloe cream had given him. It even made him laugh a bit when he shifted in the bed for he was slicked up all over. He suspected that if he stood up, he would slip and fall on the wood floor.

The heat had drawn back from his skin, except at the very center of his anatomy. His thoughts did nothing but fan the flames for his head was filled with his memory of Bean's naked body. Swimming beneath the water like a silvery sleek fish. Sunning himself on the rock, his arms spread wide and his thighs fallen open to the caressing warmth of the afternoon air.

Elijah slipped his hand beneath the sheet and wrapped his fingers around his stiff cock, pulling hard once, twice. His skin tingled and throbbed; it hurt a little for his cock had not been exempted from the sun's hot rays. He rather liked it that way and tightened his grip as he pictured Bean's cock in his mind's eye.

He dragged his thumb over his swollen glans, rubbing in circles over and over, dreamy now. Bean's cock was different—thicker, longer, with heavy balls cushioning the shaft. Elijah slid his hand lower and cupped his sac, gently rolling and squeezing, his thighs spread wide and his knees angled up, his heels bracing his arching back. He moaned and slid his hand even lower, pressing at his opening with one slick finger, stroking round and round as his flesh fluttered at his fingertip. His body was hungry.

He'd never done it with anyone. Had barely dared anything more than fumbled hand jobs with Roger in his narrow bed at school where they both had scarcely risked breathing, much less touching each other intimately. And they'd never looked each other in the eye the mornings after. That is, Roger never did. Elijah knew that for he always tried.

_I will._

Bean's cock was dusky rose at its head, brownish along its long shaft. It would swell. Oh, Elijah would make it swell and bloom inside his body like a rising crimson tulip. Moaning again, louder this time, he spread his thighs wider, gauging just how far he would need to open himself for Bean, pulling his knees to his chest.

Elijah arced his fingers deep inside himself with one thrust. It was enough, and he pressed his face into his pillow, biting down until he tasted the cotton against his tongue. He came hard, spurting on his belly, and his come spread and melted with the sweet-scented aloe and marigold cream.

_I will._

* * *

Elijah was growing brown, the old layer of sunburned skin peeled away to make way for the new. But he was careful and did not expose his body to the strong rays of the sun for long periods of time, instead preferring to lounge beneath his willow tree. He'd come to think of it that way in the week he'd been coming here. It was the perfect place to be alone and think and swim and read and draw and sleep. He'd done all those things here, so many times now that each time had ceased to stand out in his mind as individual acts and had merged into the warm comfort of new habits and rituals.

He'd drawn a lot, mostly his surroundings for they provided a rich pool of possibilities—the water, the grass-grown lawn, where the little clearing met the encroaching woods, the way the willow's branches dipped into the pond. He'd not drawn Bean since the first day for the simple fact that Bean had not appeared again.

Elijah wished he would.

_I still need to apologize._

_You want to tell him more about what happened to you._

_That too._

_You want to touch him ... and be touched ..._

Every day he wished Bean would appear, but he had a little stubborn streak in his character and so did not seek him out. Each day when he set out from the big house (Clifford had taken to teasing him about a supposed assignation with a buxom village girl), he always had the choice of the two paths to the pond, and each day he took the straight way. But he was also young and impatient, so eventually he took the bit between his teeth so to speak. This day, his seventh in a row at his pond, his sunburn healed and his skin renewed with a rosy tan, he sat down cross-legged beneath his tree and closed his eyes.

_Send him to me,_ he thought, and promptly fell over as Annie hurled herself at him, all wiggling body and lashing tail and doggy nose wet and cold against his cheek. As he steadied himself, wrapping his arms around Annie to hopefully restrain her exuberance enough to sit upright again, he heard a low chuckle. Though the sound sent a thrill from the base of his spine straight up to the back of his neck, the short hairs prickling and his skin tingling, he managed to keep his voice nonchalant.

"Hullo, Bean."

"Afternoon," Bean said. He knelt beneath the tree and leaned against its trunk, unbuttoning his shirt as he did so. "Are ye not swimmin' today?"

Elijah smiled. "Not yet though I'll keep you company if you do. I promised my sister I wouldn't stay in the sun too long. I'm afraid I got fearfully burned last week, though I believe the tongue-lashing it earned me was just as unpleasant."

Well, the laughter that followed might have been kind and filled with man-to-man fellowship, but it irked Elijah nonetheless. Bean said, as he stood up and stripped off the rest of his clothes, "Ah, well, 'tis best to obey a strong-minded woman, especially if she's kin." He strode into the pond and turned back to face Elijah, the water lapping at his thighs. "I'll not tell on ye, lad. And I'll keep an eye on your delicate skin though you look brown and well enough to me."

It's possible that Bean's promise was what convinced Elijah to strip off and join him in the water, though Elijah was only aware that he needed to follow the man. Not to mention cool his rather heated parts off as quickly as possible.

Unlike the first time they swam together, today they did not splash and chase each other across the pond, instead floating on their backs and looking up into the sky. Though it was as hot as it had been all week, today it was humid and the sky was overcast, with barely a hint of blue showing.

Elijah finally ended the silence that had only been broken by the gentle splash of water as they'd paddled their hands and feet in desultory fashion, just enough to keep their bodies afloat. "Think it'll rain this afternoon?"

Bean opened his eyes and squinted first at the sky and then at Elijah. "Oh, aye ... p'raps not until tonight. We're safe for now at least." He closed his eyes again and drifted.

"How can you tell?" Elijah asked but his mind was on Bean's words. _We're safe for now ... we ..._

"It's the smell in the air. It's allus the smell that'll tell ye when the rain's to come." With that, Bean dunked himself beneath the surface of the water, once, twice, bobbing like a tall cork, and then swam for the shore. "Will ye draw me today, then?" He walked out of the water, his bare legs appearing by slow inches, the water running down them. When he reached Elijah's willow tree, he turned round and struck a pose, arms up and hands clenched into fists, biceps tightened and round and hard. Rather like rocks.

Elijah laughed and made for the shore. They both dressed in their drawers and pulled open Elijah's picnic lunch. Elijah smiled when he thought of how cook looked him up and down every day, shaking her head and grumbling over the amount of provisions that he apparently needed for his lunch.

With a sigh of satiety, Bean stretched his arms and leaned against the tree trunk, Annie curling up next to him after finishing her share of the bread and cheese. When Bean closed his eyes, Elijah picked up his sketching pad and pencil.

Elijah grew so engrossed in his drawing that he did not notice when Bean opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on him. It wasn't that Elijah didn't look over at Bean regularly and with great attention to detail. But he was concerned only with what he needed to take in to complete his drawing to match it to the image that had formed in his mind when he'd watched Bean relaxing against the willow, his head angled up to expose his strong throat, pulse beating slow and sure in its hollow.

Therefore, he could be forgiven if he jumped a little when Bean spoke to him, not that the man's voice was harsh in tone or words said. His pencil stroke went a little askew, but it didn't matter for this drawing could absorb such a thing and not suffer from it. Yes. It wasn't a problem at all, but a fine new detail that added depth to the living form he was trying to capture.

Bean said, "Do ye miss it, then?"

Elijah looked up, lifting his pencil from his drawing, careful now not to push his luck. "Miss what?"

"Your school. Your mates."

Elijah looked down and shrugged. He licked the tip of the pencil, placed it next to a curve that he thought needed a little embellishment, then stopped, unsure. Perhaps it was fine the way it was. "Yes. No."

"Well, what is it?"

Elijah put down his pencil. Anyway, the sketch needed only a few more strokes here and there—some shadows to intensify, some increased delineation of features to bring the character into greater focus. He would finish in a minute though perhaps it was better as it was now, in a less polished state. After all, that might suit his need more completely. "I do miss some of it, though term will be finished soon anyway so I wouldn't have been there much longer this year. It's almost time for long vacation as it is. But there are things I don't miss, not at all."

"Tell me."

"I never felt right there, not completely. Didn't really even want to go. Father insisted."

"Why?"

Elijah shrugged and played with his pencil before answering, twiddling it between thumb and forefinger as it lay on the grass next to him. "It's what young men of my station in life do, isn't it? Anyway, Father went to Cambridge himself, even though he's an artist too."

"What did ye want to do if not that?"

"Go to Europe."

"Where?"

"Paris. Italy, maybe. Venice, of course."

"Oh, of course. And why of course?"

Elijah smiled and looked out over the pond. "To paint the light and the water. I was there years ago, but I know so much more now. I could do so much more."

"What's stopping you?"

"I don't really know. Haven't really thought of it, not yet at least." There was something in Bean's eyes that drew Elijah on. "You were there, weren't you?"

"Where? Venice? No."

"France. You said you were in France."

The words were barely out of Elijah's mouth when he realized he'd done it again. But it had struck him so strongly that Bean had been in France and maybe he'd even gone to Paris. Stupid.

Unlike the other time beneath the tree, Bean didn't look angry. Or if he was, it expressed itself in a different fashion for he threw his head back and roared with laughter. He laughed so long and loud that Annie woke with a start and drew away from him so she could continue her nap unmolested. When he finally regained control of his emotions, he shook his head at Elijah.

"Oh, aye. I was there." A few more laughs escaped. "Do ye think it was a picnic, where I was? A Grand Tour, as young gentlemen like to go on. That I was seein' the sights?"

Elijah wanted to be angry, but how could he be when Bean's reaction really was very generous and understanding. If he'd been in Bean's shoes, he'd probably be kicking his effete, overbred arse across the grass, or picking him up by the scruff of his neck and flinging him into the pond for a well-earned dunking.

So Elijah learned his lesson and did not get angry. He smiled and held out his hands, palms up. "I'm sorry. You'd think I'd have more imagination ... or at least some common sense." His expression grew solemn. "There were men—older men, in their late twenties, in their thirties even—who were at Cambridge with me who'd been there. In France when you were there. Really, I've no excuse other than utter stupidity. Just like I was the other day. May I apologize?"

Was it possible that Bean was blushing? If he was, it came and went rather fast, but Elijah's eyes caught it nonetheless and he hugged it to himself in silence. Bean cleared his throat. "No need. How could you know, you all locked away in your ivory tower and dreaming your dreams with your mates."

"Right," Elijah said with a bitter twist of his mouth.

"No?" Bean raised his eyebrows.

"Not completely. Last week, I told you I was thrown out ..."

"Aye? You never said what for."

It was Elijah's turn to clear his throat. "Someone—I used to think he was my friend, my best friend—arranged for a whore to be found in my bed with me. I was caught. So you see it wasn't all ivory towers."

Bean's mouth twitched, and that did irritate Elijah. But Bean controlled his little faux pas and merely said in a soft voice, "I reckon your ivory tower came to nowt in the end. Do you suppose that's the way with them?"

There was understanding in the man's eyes after all. "Yes. I think you're right. Though at least I was safe in most respects and I've come out uninjured."

"Have ye?"

Elijah said, "Well, yes ... compared to you ..." He took a deep breath and continued when Bean said nothing, just look at him with a steady, unreadable expression. "Will you tell me more of what happened to you there some time? I would like to learn. I'd ask Clifford, but it's easier to talk to you."

Bean nodded and whistled for Annie. "Aye. Some time. I'd best be goin' now. I've got some traps to check."

Elijah said, "Oh! Right." He scrabbled on the ground for the drawing he'd been working on and held it out to Bean. "I know you don't want my apology for being a dunce before—last week, today—but would you accept this as a gift?"

Bean's posture went all stiff and straight as he took the thick drawing paper in his hand and examined the sketch. Elijah had to bite his lip for it was an endearing thing to see and he wanted to laugh—not in derision, oh no, not like that. There was a bubble of affection that was rising in his belly as he watched Bean inspect the drawing and it just made him want to laugh from the pleasure of it.

When Bean raised his head and met Elijah's gaze, the expression in his eyes was something new. Oh, Elijah thought he'd seen a hint of it the previous week, but just a bare suggestion of something new and more intimate and now here it was, stronger, fuller. Open. There was something open and humble in Bean's expression, his green eyes wide and innocent. "It's grand. Oh, it's a grand drawing. I thank ye for it." He drew Annie closer. "Look, lass. You've been immortalized by our little lord here."

As Bean dressed quickly, Annie wasn't the only one who squirmed with pleasure.

* * *

He worked carefully, all his movements neat and economical. His hands were deft, and his chosen materials bent in obedience beneath them, sliding with ease into the form he needed.

The wood was old walnut salvaged from a broken chair, its surfaces pitted a little, which he liked as well as not. It would suit its surroundings, for his house was a humble one with plain rooms and furnishings. He held the nails in his mouth and drew each one out at need as he worked his way around the perimeter of the rectangle he was forming. He had no glass but did not fret, and he was careful to puncture the thick paper only where absolutely necessary and with a delicacy of effort that was belied by the blunt strength of his hands.

When he finished making his frame and tacking the drawing to it, he took it to his bedroom. He laughed as he looked around the whitewashed walls, for there wasn't a single picture in the bare little room. She'd taken them all away with her when she'd gone, not that he missed any of them. They hadn't fit, not with their fussy lines and peeling gilt frames.

The drawing was not large, even in its completed frame, so he decided not to put it on one of the walls that had a large expanse of space. Since he wanted to be able to see it without having to crane his neck too much, he placed it above his small chest of drawers for that was directly opposite the foot of his bed and he could look at it before going to sleep at night or while waking up. He reckoned the morning sun would strike it just right, and he could enjoy its sight while stroking its subject as she slept curled up by his side.

After he tacked it up, the back of the frame suspended from a single nail driven into the wall, he lay down on his bed to test out its placement. He grinned. It looked good there.

No one had ever given Bean something like it. Oh, he'd had presents aplenty from his family, but they'd always been sturdy, practical things—clothes and tools made to last through his long working years. No one had ever given him something fanciful, just for the beauty and pleasure of it. Something crafted with care just for him that only he would love.  


* * *

_Thwack!_

It was amazing.

And a little annoying, Elijah thought, as Clifford sent his croquet ball spinning across the lawn yet again. That damned chair Clifford rode around in. It was a weapon Elijah had not foreseen when Connie and Clifford suggested a game of croquet. Not in a thousand years would he have suspected that Clifford would have learned to make the chair an organic part of his body when he played, and certainly not that he would use it to such great advantage. Leverage. It was all about balance and leverage and of course whacking the ball at the appropriate place with the correct force in the optimum direction.

_Reminds me of that quote about war tactics he likes to quote, some equation about force and mass and ... _

"That should keep you busy for a bit," Clifford said, upending his mallet and leaning it at a jaunty angle on his shoulder, as though it were his rifle and he'd just made a fine shot. "Though don't go too far. We like seeing you for more than a few minutes at breakfast and dinner."

"Clifford!" That was Connie, shaking her head.

"I don't think it's your turn yet, Connie, strictly speaking, but you might as well take one," he said. "After all, Elijah will be off looking for his ball ... if he doesn't get waylaid by his new dalliance and forget to come back. Not that I'd blame him if he did. Do it myself if I were his age."

Elijah heard that and he stopped in his tracks though he did not turn back. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, clenching and unclenching his fists.

_He's your brother-in-law. _

_It's a load of bollocks, and you know it._

_He likes the idea of your having assignations with some village girl. Thinks you're carrying on some sort of tradition of Wragby masculine virility. Quite endearing, after all, and brotherly. What does it hurt? Hmph. Wouldn't much like it if I got caught red-handed, though, would he?_

"Come on! What's her name?" Clifford called.

Elijah looked up. Bean was six feet away from him, a step or two from the edge of the wood, looking directly at him with a faint smile playing about his lips.

"Damn," Elijah muttered under his breath before turning round and trotting back to a grinning Clifford and a frowning Connie.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he said to Clifford, his lips pressed into a smirk. He did not meet Connie's gaze. Better not to this time.

_How odd,_ he thought. _Both of them red-faced, but neither of them thinking the same thing. _

_What's Bean thinking?_

_Damn._

* * *

It was past midnight, but Elijah was still awake, hard at work on one of his sketches of Bean. He hadn't intended to do this, but he couldn't sleep, not even after satisfying his desire more than once with quick, rough strokes. Even after his body was depleted for the moment of its seed, still the image rose in his head and would not leave him alone.

So Elijah drew, curled up in his bed, the scent of his semen pungent in the air. If he hadn't known better, he might have almost thought there was a basket of fresh-picked mushrooms next to him, damp earth still clinging to their fat stems.

_"What's her name?"_

"I don't know," Elijah murmured. "Only know his family name."

Bean lay naked on the flat rock, the fingers of one hand trailing in the water, the other curled around his hard cock. Very long, very thick, very hard cock. His eyes were closed, his head tilted up toward the sun.

It was a fine picture, almost as good as the one he'd drawn of Annie, and Elijah took his time with it. He wanted it to be perfect for he knew he would carry it with him when he left Wragby. It would probably be the most tangible thing he would take with him of Bean, the closest he would come to knowing the man's body intimately, though his caresses came from his pencil instead of his hands and lips. So it was only right and proper that he stay up most of the night, using the most delicate strokes he'd ever taken with a drawing pencil, getting it all right, getting it down so that he wouldn't have to recall it all in his head when he lay alone and longed to feel Bean's body against his.

The sun was just coming up when Elijah put down his pencil and placed the finished drawing in his portfolio, sliding it in amongst the fountains and trees and ducks and chaste drawings of Bean at the pond.

He slipped into his bed, drew the sheet up to his waist and fell asleep on his stomach, one leg bent up at the knee and one hand pillowing his cheek. He did not wake until after the sun was high in the bright blue sky and its light was flooding through the windows of his room, not even when Connie rapped at his door, puzzled that he had not appeared for breakfast.

"Elijah? Are you there?"

Connie cracked open the door and peered inside to find her brother lying fast asleep on the disordered bed, the rumpled sheets trailing over its edge as though Elijah had kicked them away in restless sleep. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought Clifford's mythical village girl had snuck into the room and had her way with her very virginal brother.

"Elijah?" That was whispered for she did not really want to disturb him, instead only needing to make sure he was safe.

When Connie closed the door with barely a sound, Elijah shifted in his sleep and smiled.

* * *

Elijah was treading water when Bean appeared, rifle in his hand and Annie trotting at his heels. They nodded at each other but did not speak. Elijah liked that. It confirmed to him that they were comfortable with each other now, at least enough not to have to make small talk, though Elijah laughed a little to himself at the thought of Bean ever doing such an inconsequential thing.

Bean sat under the tree and pulled off his heavy boots. He started to unbutton his shirt and then stopped, the motion of his hands suddenly arrested.

_I should do some studies of his hands,_ Elijah thought as he bobbed up and down slowly in the water. When Bean did not continue undressing, Elijah called out, "What are you waiting for? The water's perfect."

With one eyebrow raised, Bean said, "Well, I don't like to think I might be, er ..." His voice trailed off into a snicker.

"Yes? Out with it." Elijah compressed his mouth into a straight line. What was the silly man on about?

With a great show of nonchalance, Bean looked around the clearing. "Oh, I wouldn't want to scare off your lass." He stood up, shoes and socks clutched under one arm. "I'd best go now."

The world wasn't red, was it? Elijah knew that objectively enough, but clear sight was not given to him at the moment as he splashed through the shallows of the pond and stomped onto the bank.

"What?"

Bean raised his hands, palms up. "Just getting' out of your way, so t' speak."

_Not him, too ... Clifford's bad enough ..._

Elijah knew he was being ridiculous, but he stood there before Bean and, well, he pushed him, not that it made much of an impact as the man was sturdy as a tree and merely stepped back one pace.

"Damn you!"

Bean smiled a little smile with just one corner of his mouth curved up. "Oh, aye? May I know what for?"

"You know full well there's no one but you meeting me here."

"Ah, but I don't know that. I don't come here every day, do I? Oh, I might pass by most days though I've not allus got the time to fritter the daylight hours away with the likes of you."

"Have you been spying on me? How dare you. I shall ... shall ..." Elijah grabbed his drawers and pulled them on. At least that way he might feel a little less vulnerable and exposed to whatever barbs Bean chose to fling at him. Ridiculous man. Reverting to type, wasn't he, with his crudity and crass words. Not to mention that sneer the ass would probably call a smile.

Bean resumed stripping off his clothes, his voice mild when he spoke. "And what shall ye do, then? Run to Lord Clifford with some tittle tattle?"

Oh, now, that was even more ridiculous, and Elijah just stood there with his arms hugging his chest, shifting from one foot to the other. He jerked his chin. "Tittle tattle, is it? Is that what you call your spy reports?"

Bean laughed. "I haven't been spyin' on ye. I just thought we'd have a bit of a laugh at Sir Clifford's expense is all. Sorry. I didn't think ye'd take on so about nowt."

"Oh." Elijah's anger faded away, or had it even been anger? It had certainly felt like anger or some close relation to it, and now that it was gone he felt sick to his stomach. It was bad enough to have Clifford's teasing, but he had not expected it from Bean though he realized now that Bean had not meant anything by it. He sat down beneath the tree but kept his arms wrapped around his waist, needing to feel something holding him, something safe.

Bean knelt down next to him and called to Annie. She flopped down and panted up at them, her smiling doggy face oblivious to the tension between these two men she'd grown so comfortable with.

When Elijah stayed silent, his gaze fixed on Annie, Bean said, "I hung it up in my bedroom, the picture ye did. It looks good there." He reached out his hand and brushed Elijah's shoulder with his fingers. "I like it."

Elijah looked at him, his eyes narrowed a little bit as though he were expecting a blow to fall. "I guess I owe you an explanation."

"If you like."

"I don't like women," Elijah muttered.

"Eh?" Bean drew back his hand.

"When I got caught with that whore in my bed at school, it wasn't that my friend expected I'd do anything with her." Elijah's mouth twisted in a grimace when he said "my friend," as though the words tasted bad. "I don't like women that way, and he knew it. That's why he did it though I didn't realize it at the time. Stupid of me, but I thought he was my friend. So you see, there is no way that I'd be having a dalliance with some village girl as my delightful brother-in-law phrased it. Sorry I snapped at you. I'm glad you like the drawing."

Elijah stood up and went to his pile of clothes. As he bent down to pick up his trousers, he heard Bean behind him but did not turn round. He did not want to see what was in the man's eyes, not after the warmth and intimacy that had welcomed him only a day or so before.

Bean's voice was quiet but steady. "I've seen that before."

"Where?"

"In France. In the trenches. There was more'n death and sufferin' there ... it's what kept some alive and helped them t' go on. Sometimes it was but lust to keep away the pain and the fear and the loneliness; sometimes it was love though there were many who'd never call it that. I did."

After taking a deep breath, for he was still fearful of what he would see in Bean's eyes, Elijah turned around, his heart beating fast and hard. The calmness of Bean's expression soothed him a little, and he knew he could ask his question in a clear voice, almost unafraid.

Elijah said, "Did you ever?"

"No. Never had the taste for it myself."

"Never? That's a long time."

"Aye."

Elijah shrugged and smiled, though it was not full-hearted but tentative and supplicating at its edges. "Did it disgust you when you saw such things?"

And now it was Bean who could not seem to look Elijah straight in the eyes. "Aye, before."

"Before what?" Elijah's voice sharpened. It didn't really matter what was in his voice or his words now that he'd taken the chance and spoken the truth. Now he just needed to know what was in Bean's mind and heart, even though there would never be anything more between them than a brief friendship that had always been fated to end before it had blossomed to its full potential. Foolish of him to ever have dreamed of anything else.

"Before France."

"And now?"

Bean looked around the clearing, as if searching for something though Elijah knew not what. Perhaps an escape route, and Elijah could not blame him. But then Bean did something so unexpected that it almost undid Elijah. Bean turned to him, reached out his hand and ruffled Elijah's hair before answering his plaintive question. "No. How could I after what I've seen? Love is good. Lust is good. Who am I to judge and condemn?"

"Oh." Elijah exhaled in relief, the muscles in his legs all wobbly.

"Oh?" Bean grinned. "All right now?"

"Yes."

"And I'm forgiven for bein' crass and all?"

Elijah smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Swim?"

Elijah nodded and watched Bean slip off his drawers, remembering at the last second to avert his gaze to preserve a little modesty, though he'd not done that before. Of course there'd been no need before for there'd been no overly dramatic outbursts about love and desire. After Bean had splashed his way into the center of the pond, Elijah stood still for a second, just to soak in the gratitude he felt at not being turned away completely. With a shake of his head, he pulled off his drawers and ran into the pond, his legs still a little unsteady.

They chased each other this time. After all, they had to do something to dissipate all that tension, and what could be more innocent than splashing each other and chasing each other round and round the pond like two lads of ten who hadn't a care in the world?

At last they met at the center of the pond, and Elijah flung himself at Bean, laughing and pushing him beneath the water. Bean's strong arms encircled his hips and pulled him down and they were chest to chest in the water, their skin sliding cool and smooth against each other. When they surfaced, Bean still had his arms around Elijah's waist, his fingers pressed into his flesh.

They bobbed for a moment, eye to eye.

_Go on. _

"Never?" Elijah asked.

Bean licked his lips and slid one hand lower, cupping Elijah's ass. "Ah, well. There's allus a first time, isn't there? Mustn't go against nature, must we?"

Elijah almost burst from the joy of this moment, and in his heart and mind he recorded everything about it—the words of surrender, the look of surprise on Bean's face—storing it up for all the lonely and empty days that were sure to follow after this timeless season in the wood. "Come on, then," he said, and pulled away, taking Bean by the hand and stroking for the shore.

They made it to the shore but not farther than that, and it welcomed them with its thick green grass and soft earth to cushion their bodies.

Elijah's skin was still cool from the pond when Bean lowered his mouth. He lay still and did not dare to breathe as Bean's mouth closed over his belly. So warm and wet. Bean licked Elijah's belly button, and that made him not only move but squirm.

Bean raised his head and grinned, a lock of hair falling over one eye. "So ye like that, do ye?"

"What do you think?" Elijah answered and pulled Bean on top of him, desperate to feel every inch of Bean's body against him after all his late-night imagining. They were clumsy with each other at first—Elijah in his inexperience except for those long-ago fumblings in the dark with Roger, and Bean in the newness of male body against male body. But they didn't notice the awkward caresses, the way their arms and legs bumped against each other before tangling the way they were born to do.

_Oh, it's just_ ... Elijah managed to think before all rational thought deserted him and all he knew was Bean's cock sliding against his over and over, Bean's fingers digging into his hips, Bean's breath hot against his shoulder. The earth and grass beneath him rubbed against his skin as Bean ground his hips harder, faster, and Elijah arched his back, all the muscles in his body tensed. He cried out when he climaxed, too soon, oh he wanted to start again and go on and on and on, but then Bean was shouting in his ear and their come spread warm and thick between their bellies, their cocks pulsing and jerking.

And then they were boneless and sprawling against each other, panting and laughing. The earth beneath Elijah's back had been so cool when Bean had first pressed him down, but now it was warm from the heat of their passion, and Elijah was sure that he'd never manage to wash all the soil from the pores of his skin. He suspected he did not care.

Bean raised himself on his arms and looked down at Elijah.

_Oh ..._

There was something about this look that was more intimate than all the caresses they'd just shared. It was the first open look given him by a lover, and Elijah drank it in like a thirsty plant.

He raised his hand to Bean's face and smoothed back his sweat-damp hair. "What's your name?"

"What?" Bean laughed and rolled onto his back and Elijah came with him, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Your first name? I don't know what it is."

Bean put his hand around the back of Elijah's neck and pulled his head down. He kissed Elijah on the mouth for the first time, and it was just a little kiss, tentative, their lips grazing together before separating again.

"It's Sean."

Elijah smiled and lay down next to his Sean, pressing his face against his lover's shoulder and hooking one leg over his waist. He rubbed his lips against the base of Sean's throat, his mouth finding the pulse beating slow and steady.

"Hello, Sean."


	5. Pollination

Bean fell back against the grass, sweat streaming down his face and slicking his body, his fingers tangled in damp hair while Elijah rubbed his face back and forth against Bean's belly, inhaling his scent. Oh, the smell of Bean was strong and so much better than the effects of wine or cider or anything else considered intoxicating, for it was the scent of a man who'd just been well-pleasured. Pleasured by Elijah's mouth, licking, sucking, nibbling—experimenting, in fact, for Elijah had never done that before, except in his imagination alone at night. He was especially pleased and more than a little proud of himself that Bean had yelped only once or twice when his sharp teeth had snagged a bit of delicate skin.

And now Bean lay spread-eagled on the grass, with one hand clasping the nape of Elijah's neck, caressing and kneading. When he spoke, he was still a little winded, and Elijah liked that almost as much as the long drawn-out moan he'd let out when he'd come. "Don't think my John Thomas has ever been so pleased with hisself."

Elijah lifted his head, his mouth dropping open before he snapped it shut and snorted with laughter. "What did you say?"

With a quick tap on his softened penis, Bean said in clearly enunciated words, "John Tho-mas. Haven't ye ever heard that?" Bean drew his thumb across Elijah's mouth, but before he could pull it away, Elijah sucked it into his mouth and licked away the drops of semen that coated it. Elijah hadn't been sure if he'd like the taste and had been a little apprehensive that he would jerk his head away at the last moment which seemed very rude and thoughtless, but as it happened, it tasted good to him. Strange but good. He'd need some more practice before he was able to separate out the various components of its flavor, rather like he did when he was examining a new specimen to draw and needed to return to it over and over again, identifying and cataloging each hue and curve and texture, each time with growing familiarity and surety until he could summon the whole of the thing to his mind in a split second.

"No," Elijah said. "Can't say that I've had the benefit of that particular piece of knowledge. So what's mine called? The same?"

Bean looked up and wrinkled his forehead as though he was thinking deeply on Elijah's question and perhaps suspected he'd find enlightenment on the matter among the drooping branches and leaves of their willow tree. When Elijah slid up to be closer to Bean and punched him in the arm, Bean turned his gaze toward Elijah, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Oh, no. Wouldn't be near grand enough for ye. Little lord. What else?"

"Little?" Elijah rolled onto his back, the better to display his rather impressive erection. Impressive to him for he could have sworn that he'd never had a more painful, a more delightfully full, a more near-to-bursting arousal in his entire life. After all, what was more arousing to the senses than the anticipation of receiving pleasure? And in this case, Elijah had the example of Bean's satisfaction spread out in great bodily detail for him, which made his anticipation all the more excruciating in its deliciousness.

"Well, comparatively speakin'."

Elijah liked it when Bean closed one hand around his cock. Oh, his hand was so warm, warm and rough, with worn calluses spreading across his palm from so many years of manual labor. The rough patches on Bean's fist rasped against Elijah's flesh with a delightful friction, just enough to please but not enough to irritate or abrade too much. He closed his eyes, spread his thighs and gave himself up to the heat that was now weaving itself around him inside and out—the warmth of the sun as it filtered through the willow leaves, dappling their bodies with a moving pattern of light and shade; and the liquid heat rising inside his body and flowing all in one direction, with one end in sight. When Bean took his hand away, Elijah moaned.

"Don't worry yourself, Elijah. Must pay ye back in kind, mustn't I?"

But Elijah didn't answer, at least not in discernible words, because the grip of Bean's hand around him was nothing compared to the heat and wetness of Bean's mouth closing over the head of his cock and sucking hard. There was another form of warmth as well, but that was in Elijah's heart. Bean had never called him by his first name before.

Just as Elijah knew he needed more experience before he could correctly characterize the flavor of Bean's come, he realized, as the flat of Bean's tongue swiped up and down his shaft, a lot more experience at _this_ would be needed before he could even begin to separate out the various components of his pleasure. It was quite possible that he never would, or at least never should, for wasn't there a time to lay aside the observing artist and be content to be a man being pleasured by his lover?

_Mmmm ... his tongue's softer than the thickest, most luxurious paintbrush ..._

* * *

They stood thigh-deep in the pond, cupping their hands and dipping them into the water, pouring it over each other's bodies as from little living pitchers. Every now and then they smiled at each other, but for the most part they were content to caress each other's bodies with curious fingers, each one learning the contours and sinews of the other. Only the rhythmic sound of the pouring and splashing water could be heard in the clearing for the day was hot and all other living creatures were sleeping. Even the fish moved only sporadically, with an occasional languid undulation of body and tail.

When the silence was finally broken, it was by Elijah with a handful of words spoken in a soft but clear voice.

"I want you to fuck me."

Bean pulled back, his eyebrows raised, and considered this very strange young man in front of him. _He's like a young pup with scared eyes who rushes ahead anyway._

"Now?"

"No!"

_Ah, the pup's run back to his mum for a bit._

"Well, then, when?"

"Tonight," Elijah said, his mouth set in a firm line. "Is this something you've seen, you know, when you saw such things?"

Bean poured a handful of water on top of Elijah's head. "You're a daft thing, ye know. Did ye think I watched?"

After shaking his head violently, drops of water flying in all directions from his dripping hair, Elijah said, "Well, no, but I just wondered ..."

"Aye?" Now Bean was truly curious. What on earth was Elijah ratting on about, like a terrier jumping back and forth, circling his intentions but not coming out and stating them? And shaking his head like Annie did whenever she'd gone for a swim in the pond did nothing to dissipate the doggy image in Bean's head though Annie hadn't a bit of terrier in her. Nevertheless, he was hard put to it not to pat Elijah on the head and laugh.

Elijah jerked his chin, which was a little alarming to Bean for he'd seen that action before and regretted being its cause. But it turned out that this time, it was just to give him a little more nerve. _Like before_, Bean thought.

Having found his nerve, Elijah blurted out his next question, his face red. "Well, did they use anything to make things easier?"

And now Bean had no idea what Elijah was blathering about, which was most irritating to Elijah. The man had spent all that time in France, apparently with men in loving relationships all around him, and he'd no idea of much of anything. Elijah sighed, loudly. "Did they use any oil or other, well, slippery mixture to make things easier? Are you dense?"

The slow smile that spread across Bean's face started a correspondingly slow burn in Elijah's belly, though he wasn't sure if it was irritation with Bean laughing at him or desire building again, for the man looked damned appealing when he smiled that way. Bean reached out and took Elijah's chin in his hand, pulled him close and kissed him soundly on the mouth. When he released Elijah, the young man stumbled a little because it was a fine kiss and he wasn't used to such a thing, especially since he still felt Bean's tongue pressing against the soft interior of his mouth.

Bean said, "Happen they might use a bit of gun oil."

Elijah's eyes widened. "So you did watch?"

"No ... it was just summat I might have heard. If that's what they were talkin' about, that is. I've allus got plenty around. Though ..."

"What?"

"It's not like there was much of this thing goin' on ... it wasn't exactly like a picnic."

"I know."

"Do ye?"

"Bollocks." Elijah pulled Bean close and kissed him. It was the first time he'd taken his time with kissing Bean that way, commanding him, and Elijah enjoyed the result for Bean gasped and groaned, his hands all of a sudden gripping hard around Elijah's ass.

When he let go, Elijah splashed toward the shore, calling over his shoulder to Bean who stood wobbling in the water, "I shall come to your cottage tonight when it's dark. When it's late. I'll take care of the, er, necessities."

Bean grinned and dipped his body into the water. After all, he had to do something to relieve his renewed erection. Best to save it for the night to come.

* * *

It was close on midnight when Elijah slipped out of his room and through the dark hallway. He held his breath as he passed Connie's closed door, for a strip of yellow light showed beneath it. She must be awake and reading, though he knew she fell asleep often that way and woke in the middle of the night with a crick in her neck and the book, its pages creased, facedown in her lap. He hoped this was the case tonight because he had not the slightest desire to have to explain anything to her, as much as he wanted to confide in her. But his whispered confidences would be for later, not now. Not when he needed to get down the stairs and out of the house before he lost his nerve.

He was halfway down the stairs when a spill of light and the soft click of an opening door told him he wasn't to be so lucky, but he couldn't ignore it and so he turned around to see Connie leaning against her open doorway.

They stared at each while the rest of the house lay sleeping, both of them caught in the light. After a long minute, during which the grandfather clock on the landing chimed out midnight, Connie nodded at him, raising her hand in a motion that lay halfway between blessing and warning. Or maybe it was both, the one sliding imperceptibly into the other just as the outline of her mouth shifted between frown and smile so subtly that Elijah was not sure he'd even seen it, though he felt the warmth of her smile. He nodded at her, but she was already gone, her door shutting with a firm click and the light gone.

* * *

Before Elijah even had the chance to knock at Bean's door, it was open and the flickering red and yellow light from the hearth greeted him.

"So you made it, did ye?" Bean asked as he stood back and ushered Elijah into the cottage, nodding his head far too many times for common courtesy.

_Oh, he's nervous,_ Elijah thought.

Elijah looked around the room but had little opportunity to take in much of it other than a general impression of simple wooden chairs and tables, a spray of flowering honeysuckle thrust into a rough clay tankard and set on a window ledge. Then Bean was taking the stairs two at a time and Elijah was following close on his heels.

The bedroom was just as small and plain, but Bean gave Elijah even less time to examine it.

"Will ye undress? You can hang your things here." Bean pointed to a row of neat hooks along one wall. Most of them were already taken up by Bean's clothes, and Elijah suspected that Bean had cleared one or two for him because the others seemed overburdened.

"Thank you," Elijah said and undressed, pulling the little pot of sunburn cream Connie had used on him out of his jacket pocket.

Bean cracked a smile. "Found your necessities, did ye?"

Elijah nodded and tossed it to Bean, who opened it and sniffed it curiously.

When they were both naked, they crawled onto the bed and their bodies finally met, though the ease with which they'd caressed each other at the pond was gone as though it had never been. The bed creaked as if in protest as it adjusted to their combined weight.

After a few rough strokes of his hand down Elijah's body, Bean smeared the cream on his cock with a couple of quick swipes. And then he was crawling between Elijah's thighs and pushing him down, the bed too soft for firm support. Elijah thought he'd sink right through the mattress as Bean pushed him down and pressed the blunt head of his cock against his opening.

_Breathe._

Elijah cried out when Bean entered him. Though his first instinct was to push away, twist away from this rough penetration, he didn't, instead gripping Bean about his shoulders and holding on as the man began to thrust, deeper and deeper in an insistent rhythm that shook the bed.

Oh, he'd never thought it would be this invasion of his body, but it was. He'd thought he knew how far he would have to open himself, but he didn't.

The ceiling had timbers set into it, and Elijah counted them. There were three of them, each one set parallel to the others, and the wood was dark and thick and rough. The gaps between the timbers were clean and smooth; perhaps they'd been whitewashed recently. Oh, it hurt, it hurt, this tearing, and there was nothing in his experience to compare it to, nothing at all. Elijah turned his head, the pillow scratchy against his sheet but like silk compared to what was happening inside his body. There were barely any cracks in the wall, the wall to Elijah's left, though he concentrated hard to see if he could find one. None. Bean had been careful with his home.

Elijah breathed hard and tried to relax, but he could not, absolutely could not will his legs to unclench their muscles. What had happened to his erection he was sure he did not know other than it did not exist, and there was no way it was going to come back, not like this.

He was bleeding; he felt his warm blood seeping from his body and staining the sheet even as Bean moved within him over and over, his face pressed against the pillow and his chin sharp against Elijah's shoulder. Somehow all that Elijah had wanted and longed for had turned into nothing that he liked now that it had broken into the light of reality.

Except ...

Bean groaned with every thrust, and Elijah held on to that sound, reached out with his mind and held to the pleasure he was giving even as he gritted his teeth and wondered why on earth he'd ever thought this had been a good idea.

At least it didn't last very long, not more than a minute or two though it seemed longer while it was happening, and at least Elijah liked the sudden burst of warmth inside as Bean climaxed, the pulsing of Bean's cock inside him soothing him in a way that not a single thrust had pleased him.

Bean pulled away immediately and flopped on his back, breathing hard, matching Elijah's in rhythm and force if not for the same reason. Elijah curled on his side, pushing his head against Bean's shoulder until the man wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close to stroke his neck with gentle fingers.

"I hung your picture here." Bean pointed before resuming his caresses.

"Yes. It looks nice."

Elijah wanted to say something more, something meaningless and everyday, but the only thing filling his mind was this shocking thing that had just happened to him. He knew he should say something to Bean about it, but he had no idea how to put it into words. How was he supposed to tell Bean that it had been awful and shocking and hurtful and yet he wanted to do it again? It sounded daft even to him. Would it always hurt like that? Was it something in his body or his mind that had prevented him from feeling the same pleasure that Bean had? Or did he just think too much at crucial moments?

"Will ye go now?"

"In a bit. You need to get your sleep, I suppose."

"Aye. In a bit. As ye like."

When Elijah pulled away and got out of the bed, he slid the sheet over the patch of bright red blood before Bean could see it. Silly, really; there was bound to be blood on Bean's cock, but still ... He dressed as quickly as he could.

There had not been one kiss between them.

"Come back tomorrow?" Bean asked when Elijah said good night.

"Yes."

Bean smiled, and Elijah could see that the corners of his mouth trembled as he did so. "Good. It'll be better."

"I know."

* * *

Connie was awake when Elijah returned, not that there had ever been any possibility of her going to sleep while he was still out. She would not sleep—_could_ not sleep—until she knew her darling was safe in the house again. Still, it surprised her when the clock had not even struck two and she heard the creak of the stairs as he tried to creep up them without a sound.

She sat up in bed and counted the seconds until she heard his door close, a little disappointed that he had not snuck into her room and told her all about it. She wondered if maybe he'd like a cup of hot cocoa, but then she heard him running a bath, the water pipes loud in the quiet house, at least from her perspective since she was in the next room over.

She knew she should leave him be, but her protective instincts were so strongly rooted in their lives that she couldn't, so she slipped out of bed and into the hall, pausing only briefly to look down at the darkened wing where Clifford's room lay in heavy silence. What if he rang and she wasn't in her room to hear the bell?

_He's sleeping. Never mind._

And then she was in Elijah's room and knocking at the bathroom door. The water had stopped running and she heard splashing.

"Elijah? Shall I wash your back? Would you like to talk?" Connie heard the squeak of Elijah's body against the porcelain bathtub and the water sloshing against its sides, and then it stopped.

"No, thank you." Elijah's voice was soft, so quiet that Connie had to lean her ear against the thick wooden door.

"Shall I make you some cocoa?"

"No, thank you. Go to sleep. It's late."

"Were you with Bean?"

"Yes. You know I was."

"And everything is all right?"

"Yes, thank you. Go to sleep, Connie. I'll see you in the morning."

"All right. Sleep well, darling."

"Connie?"

"Yes?"

"His name is Sean."

* * *

"So there _is_ some village girl after all. Didn't think he really had it in him." Connie jerked when Clifford spoke. She had not heard his chair squeaking or his door opening, though she realized her utter concentration on watching Elijah slip down the stairs again the next night was to thank for her inattention. But she heard Clifford's chair now as he wheeled himself out of the shadows of the hall into the clear view of her open doorway. Saw him, too. Saw his face.

"He'd better not get her into any trouble. I'd say he's caused enough of that for the time being."

Connie said nothing, for after all, what could she say?

* * *

They stood on opposite sides of the bed as they undressed.

"Wasn't good for you last night, was it?" Bean asked.

"No. It was ... strange." Elijah slipped off his drawers and slid into the bed, watching as Bean finished stripping and then joined him beneath the sheets.

Bean stroked Elijah's shoulder with the backs of his fingers, and Elijah shivered from the light touch. So careful. Bean said, "I'm sorry. It's like how it is with man and woman then, not allus good for both of 'em. Are ye sure ye want to again?"

"Yes! Just ... Sean?"

"Aye?"

"Be a little more ..."

Bean grinned at him, but Elijah saw the abashed look in his eyes. "Gentle like?"

Elijah nodded and put out his hand to run his fingers over Bean's cheek. It still amazed him that it was as smooth as it was, considering the strength of the man's muscles and bones and the roughness of his hands, but there it was. The skin on his face was smooth to the touch.

"Tell me if I go too fast for ye, then ..." Bean slid one knee between Elijah's thighs and parted them, the hair on his leg scratching so pleasantly that Elijah wondered why he hadn't noticed it last night. With a slight adjustment to the angle of his knee, Bean's leg was suddenly and snugly pressed against Elijah's balls. "I didn't mean to last night."

"I know," Elijah said, pushing back against the solid pressure of Bean's leg, comfortable at last. "I couldn't relax for some reason. Couldn't get out of my own head."

"Neither of us could, I'll warrant, not enough. It'll come." Bean inclined his head, just enough to be able to easily reach Elijah's throat, just enough to be able to nuzzle and lick and taste, enough to feel the vibrations of Elijah's moan against his lips. "Open your thighs for me," he whispered between a nip and a lick of Elijah's collar bone, and Elijah spread his knees wide, pulling them to his chest, just as he'd practiced in his room alone the night he'd drawn Bean from his imagination. Only this time, the flesh and muscle and hair and weight wasn't imaginary; it was all solid and real to Elijah.

It still hurt this time, but a little less and Bean wasn't so hurried, wasn't so oblivious. After he penetrated Elijah, he reared up on his hands, supporting himself with stiff arms. He looked down at Elijah, looked down at how his cock was thrust deep inside Elijah, looked at Elijah's cock half-hard and resting against his flat belly. Elijah's mouth was open and working wordlessly, his eyes half-closed with heavy lids.

Bean spoke in a gruff whisper. "Touch yourself." Elijah opened his eyes wide, startled, and licked his lips. "Touch yourself."

Elijah wrapped his hand around his cock and pulled, and it felt good. It felt right. His erection swelled and thickened, and he stroked his cock in time to Bean's thrusts, watching Bean's face until the pleasure closed his eyes, all the better to concentrate on the sensation within and without until he cried out with his climax.

Bean lay on him afterward with his full weight, and Elijah thought lazily that perhaps they'd just go to sleep like that.

"Better?" Bean murmured against Elijah's ear.

"Much. Do you want me to go?"

Bean raised up on his arms and grinned. "No. Stay with me."

While Bean leaned over to snuff out the bedside lamp, Elijah admired the play of muscles on his back as they flexed in obedience to his movements. Elijah would have to make sure he put his arms around Bean's back the next time they fucked, so he could feel with his fingertips and his palms each muscle expand and contract in time to the thrusts of Bean's buttocks.

When they composed themselves to sleep, Bean turned Elijah on his side, pressed up behind him and curled one arm around his chest, his hand spread wide against Elijah's skin, his palm rubbing lightly against one peaked nipple.

_That's what I wanted._

Unfortunately, Elijah's romantic notion was interrupted by a sort of disturbance on Bean's part. It started as barely a jiggle, a little motion that made Elijah wonder if Bean had something caught in his throat and was trying not to cough out of consideration, but it soon became apparent that it was nothing like that. Bean was laughing, quietly, but laughing none the less and Elijah had no notion why. Was the reality of lying in bed with him an occasion for hilarity?

"What's so funny?" Elijah said, his voice a little sharper than he intended.

"Sorry. It's just that I'm used to summat a little more substantial to keep hold of."

"You're a ridiculous man. I don't know why I'm bothering with you."

When Bean's chortles subsided a little, enough so that the bed stopped shaking and rolling like a boat in a disturbed pond, Elijah took the ridiculous man's hand and pushed it lower. "Will that do?"

Bean grunted. "Aye, happen it will," he said and rested his hand like a warm cup around Elijah's cock and balls, his movements careful and considerate. They slept that way until the room started to grow light and Elijah slipped away without waking Bean, watching his peaceful face while dressing with quiet movements. As he turned to leave, a little ray of early morning light caught his attention for it lit the sketch of Annie with a warm radiance in the cool dawn air. Bean had chosen well where to place it.

* * *

"Is there any reason I shouldn't summon the police and have you carted away like a common criminal, which indeed you are? Worse, I should think."

Clifford's voice rang out sharp and clear in the hall's dull gray light. Elijah stopped and closed his eyes, the breath knocked out of him for a moment until the adrenalin of fear rushed through every vein.

_So this is what loathing sounds like. Not even the Dean sounded like that when he sent me down._

When he turned to peer into the drawing room, they looked like statues of judgment and condemnation and fear—Clifford upright in his chair with a rug over his lap, his complexion red and blotchy even in the dim light; Connie next to him, her hand on his shoulder but her eyes on Elijah with a pleading expression that both assured Elijah of her continuing love and begged his forgiveness for the hand on Clifford's shoulder.

After Elijah regained a little control over his trembling legs, he squared his shoulders and walked into the drawing room. Ah. There was a fire in the hearth; that's where some of the redness of Clifford's complexion had come from. Perhaps it wasn't all choler.

"No!"

Elijah ran to the hearth and knelt down, grabbing a poker to try to save some of them, but it was too late. Only a few curling edges were left; the remainder were still on fire, orange and yellow flames licking the walls of the hearth, or had already been reduced to hot ash. His empty portfolio leaned against the mantel.

It blossomed in him then; oh, the anger blossomed in Elijah's belly and spread throughout his body until he felt himself glowing as red as one of the coals in the fireplace, red hot with the righteousness of his anger, and he stood up and faced Clifford.

"How dare you?" he shouted, his fists clenched at his sides. "That was my property. My drawings."

Elijah's anger did not diminish at Clifford's next words, but it was banked for he was in the belly of his enemy though he had not thought of Clifford in those terms before, had convinced himself of his brother-in-law's essential benign nature. He was proven wrong now and he was in Clifford's territory, so from the blind impetus of survival, his anger was banked but not put out. It never would be put out though he lived to see his hair turn white and his legs grow as weak as Clifford's from aged infirmity rather than a bullet in his spine.

"Are you stupid in addition to being degenerate?" Clifford's eyes glittered, cold with hatred and disgust. "Your so-called property could get us arrested. Or are you so lost in your immorality that you don't care?"

Connie squeezed Clifford's shoulder and spoke in a soft voice. Elijah felt more than heard its accompanying vibrato of emotion. "Clifford, please. Surely there's no harm now that ..." She lifted her eyes to meet Elijah's but he saw only the barest gleam of life and light in them. "... now that the drawings are destroyed." Her eyes begged Elijah's forgiveness.

"They were mine," Elijah said and immediately wished he hadn't for he had not been able to disguise the pain in his voice.

_He'll get no more pain from me._

"I beg to differ, my little lord," Clifford said, biting out his words between clenched teeth. "Everything in Wragby belongs to me, and I'll thank you not to forget it again. As it is, your filth is the least of it, or are you unaware of the laws governing this country? Have you forgotten Wilde and his disgrace? It wasn't all that many years ago. Or perhaps you fancy yourself above all that with your aesthete's life and University experience? Oh, pardon me. You were sent down ... that must have been quite the surprise to you, waking up in bed with a woman and not having the faintest idea what to do with her." Clifford narrowed his eyes, and Elijah lifted his chin to accept what was sure to follow. "Though I suppose you've had plenty of experience in spreading your thighs."

"Clifford! Enough!"

Elijah backed away, breathing hard. Connie had spoken, but so little, so late. He reached the doorway and held on hard for a moment, steadying his legs before turning around and running through the hall toward the stairs. Clifford's voice pursued him just as Clifford himself wheeled after him in his chair.

"You'll be out of here by afternoon or I'll have the law down on you. Do you understand?"

_Yes._

"And don't try to see that bastard again. Do that, and he'll be in jail before nightfall."

* * *

What a clear day it was. By rights it should have been pouring down cold rain or at least dull and overcast, but the sky was bright blue without even a puffy white cloud to mar its smooth, impersonal perfection.

Connie steered her little car, its top down, through Wragby's gate, Elijah's luggage balanced precariously behind them. Though it would have been more practical to have Field drive them to the station in the big car, neither of them had wanted their last conversation together to be censored for fear of being overheard.

"Will you stay with Father for long?" Connie asked, shouting to make herself heard above the sound of the car's engine.

"No." How strange it was to conduct such a conversation in raised voices, but then nothing had felt real to Elijah since he'd walked into Wragby's hall that morning and Clifford's voice had stabbed out at him with unerring precision.

"Where will you go?"

"Abroad. Italy, I think. I've enough to live on, even if Father disowns me. There's Mother's trust after all. It's not much but it's something, enough to keep me fed and in paints and canvases at least."

"Will you take him with you?"

"If I can."

"You'll have to go fast. You know what Clifford said. The only reason he's not going to the authorities about you is because of me. If he finds out that I've taken you to Bean's cottage ..."

"I know, Connie. I'm sorry." Elijah pulled a strand of hair away from Connie's eyes.

She kept her eyes on the road. "Doesn't really matter, though, does it? It won't work. There's no way it could work. Not that he'll go with you."

"You don't know that, any of it. Connie, please ..."

She turned to him for a moment, and it was long enough for Elijah to see that look in her eyes, the one that went along with the sharp tone that had come into her voice these past weeks when they spoke of Bean.

A narrow track just wide enough to accommodate the car opened on their left, and Connie turned down it, slowing the car to a crawl. A sweet scent surrounded them for both sides of the track were surrounded by large, spreading bushes of flowering honeysuckle, and the leaves and blossoms brushed against the sides of the car as if it was being swallowed up by the wood. Elijah wished it would. After a quarter of a mile, the track ended in a small clearing. There was a two-story stone cottage set in the middle of the clearing. Elijah sat forward peering at it, looking for some signs of life in its darkened windows and closed door as Connie drew the car close and switched it off.

Connie said, "I told you he wouldn't be here. He's probably left the area by now. Surely you realize that."

Elijah turned to Connie and said, "Why do you hate him?"

Connie flinched. "I don't ... how can you say that?"

There was something about the tight set of her mouth that finally pushed Elijah down the road of getting it figured out. His next words were simple though he said them slowly, as though he could barely believe each one. "You're jealous." Yes, it was true that he could scarcely believe what had come out of his mouth and he wanted Connie to deny it with clear words and a straight look into his eyes, but he did not receive that assurance from her. Instead, Connie's averted gaze and the flush staining her cheeks told him it was true. Startled to his core, Elijah blurted out the first thing that came into his head. "Why? Did you want him for yourself? Why didn't you say anything?"

Connie laughed, the sound strained and harsh, her hands still gripping the steering wheel though they'd reached their destination. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't want him. Why would I?"

"I don't know why you would. You tell me. Connie?" Elijah's voice broke a little. Connie had always been his anchor in life and if she were to go, to loosen herself from him utterly ...

With a quick exhalation of breath, Connie lay back against the car's upholstered seat and looked up at the sky. She laughed again and turned her head to look at Elijah, her eyes filled with the loving frustration that Elijah recognized from times past when he'd been too thick to construe something correctly. She said, "I want you to be happy, darling. I do. But I'm alive, too. I've got my own wants and desires. Clifford ... it's not always easy." She looked down at her hands in her lap.

"Oh, Connie. I'm so sorry."

"It's not a bad life with Clifford, truly it's not. He tries so hard, and I care for him very much though I know that must be hard for you to believe at the moment and I don't blame you a whit if you think me mad for it. But it's not a complete life and it never will be. I don't blame him and I don't blame you, but sometimes when I'd see you going off in the morning or these past few nights and knew you were going to Bean ... Sean ... it made me a little angry."

Elijah drew a breath, cut to the quick.

Connie grabbed Elijah's hand and squeezed hard. "Oh, not at you. Just ... upset ..."

"Then, leave him. Come to Italy with me."

Connie closed her eyes for a minute before drawing herself up, her back straight, and looking down at Elijah. Her mouth was firm; only Elijah knew her well enough to see the faint trembling of its corners. "What kind of person do you think I am? I spoke my marriage vows in sincerity and I take them seriously." Her head drooped. "I've thought of it," she whispered. "Oh, I have sometimes late at night. But Clifford can't leave himself, now can he? And I won't leave him."

"You'll come visit, though, won't you?"

"Always. It won't be easy there for you. I'm so frightened for you, darling."

Elijah grabbed Connie's hand and kissed it. "I know. But I have to go somewhere. I have to try some new place. It won't be so bad there, or at least it won't be so bad as it is here." Elijah smiled though it hurt a little to curve his lips. "Can't be, can it?"

Connie nodded, and Elijah drew a clear breath at the acceptance he saw in her eyes. She said, "Are you going to go in? We haven't much time. Don't worry. I won't let Clifford do anything to Bean. I promise. I couldn't stop him from destroying your pictures or being so beastly to you, but I can manage that much."

Elijah jumped out of the car and ran inside the cottage. The small room seemed utterly empty and disheveled, all the life in it melted away with barely a trace that it had ever been there. What remained was disordered as though the place had been vacated in a frantic rush—cupboard doors hanging open, a chair overturned, a linen dishcloth crumpled on the floor, the spray of honeysuckle in the window wilted.

The bedroom was empty as well, all the hooks on the wall bare of the clothes they'd held just a few hours before. Elijah stood in the doorway and stared at them. How neatly and evenly they marched across the whitewashed wall. Had someone come for Bean? Had someone taken him away, or had some friendly spy in Clifford's house warned him?

_At least he's taken the drawing with him ... that means he wasn't taken away. That's something._

Just as Elijah turned to leave the room and go back to Connie, a fragment of wood lying half beneath the bed caught his eye. He went to it and knelt down to pick it up. A scrap of drawing paper was still attached to the piece of wood, its edges ragged with recent tearing. Tears pricked behind his eyelids as he picked it up and carried it with him down the stairs, slipping it in his jacket pocket.

Elijah almost fell over as Annie flung herself at him, barking out her joy at seeing him. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

_Oh, he is still here ..._

When Elijah looked up, he saw his mistake. There was someone standing in the doorway, that was certainly true, but it was not Bean. It was an older woman with plain features, graying blond hair, familiar green eyes. Her mouth was set in a straight grim line.

"What are ye doin' here?" she asked, her voice stony and cold.

Elijah stood up and said, his voice shaking with excitement, "Where is he?"

"Gone away." She folded her arms across her chest and stared at Elijah as if daring him to say another word.

"I need to see him."

"No. Ye'll not bother him again. He's had troubles enough in his life, and you're the worst of the lot."

Elijah buried his fingers in the fur along Annie's neck, clenching hard to tamp down the anger he felt building inside at her accusation. When he spoke, his voice still shook a little. "No. I'm not."

"Aye, so ye say, not that ye'd have the full knowing of it. Anyway, he's leavin' here."

"Where to?"

"Canada – his cousin's allus wanted him to come out and share his business. Leave 'im be. You're not wanted."

Annie whined at his feet, her head against his thigh. "What about Annie?"

"What about her?"

"Is she going with him?"

The woman's eyes grew wide with surprise, and her mouth twisted into a grimace. "A dog? Don't be daft. What would the likes of us be doin' draggin' an animal across the ocean? It's enough for us to be able to pay his way ... takes a lot of brass, not that ye'd understand."

"May I have her?"

"If it'll get you out of this house and gone from our lives, she's all yours."

Elijah left, Annie trailing after him, the woman drawing aside as they passed. He got into the car, and Annie followed him when he beckoned to her, curling up at his feet. As Connie started the engine and turned the car around, the old woman stood at the cottage's doorway and watched them without expression or comment.

"He's going away, Connie. To Canada."

"I'm sorry, darling."

Elijah rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes as Connie drove back through the narrow path and turned onto the road, the car gaining speed on the wider way. When Annie nuzzled his knee, he rested his hand on the top of her head and spoke softly to her.

Connie said, "That was his mother."

"I thought as much. She said he's already gone away, though ..."

"Though maybe not yet."

"Could we ..."

"Stop at her cottage? No. Best not, darling. Best to leave it."

"Will you try later? At least try to give her some money for him. And to tell him where I am."

"Yes, of course. Though I doubt she'll accept it. She's very proud."

"I know. He has her eyes."

"Does he?"

"Yes. But you will try at least?"

"Yes, darling. Almost there now."

Elijah opened his eyes and shivered. The day was warm, but he was so cold. He could not remember the last time he'd felt so cold. They were drawing close to Tevershall now, and the grayness that the sky would not supply was on full view in the village's coal-blackened streets and buildings.

"You'll get over this. I know you will."

"Will I?"

"Yes."

"But you will try?"

Connie pulled up to the train station and switched off the car. She took Elijah's hand in hers, and they sat quietly until the train pulled in and it was time for him to go. After he was settled in a compartment, Annie curled up next to him with her head on his lap, he looked out the window at Connie, for she stood on the platform and watched him until the train pulled out of the station to take him home.

_You will try, won't you?_


	6. Epilogue: New Seed

_Venice—Six Months Later_

There were three things in this place that overrode all else—old stone, cool water and warm light. The stone was reflected in the waters of the winding canals and lagoon, all illuminated by the serene light. It had taken Elijah only one day to understand in his heart why Venice had been called La Serenissima, and just as the water and the stone absorbed the golden light, so Elijah's spirit grew peaceful as the weeks passed.

Green growing things could be found amidst the forest of well-crafted stone—tidy lemon trees in quiet courtyards; a riot of colorful flowers trailing from an open window; moss creeping up stone steps from the canals, ready to trip the unwary or inexperienced; dark green ivy clothing ochre palazzo walls; fresh vegetables and fruit neatly arranged in the Rialto's open-air market.

This place could not be more different from England, yet Elijah felt there was a kinship between Venice and Wragby's wood, for both possessed a quality that allowed him to breathe deep and free. Sometimes he even caught a glimpse of why this was so when he dawdled through a narrow street or paddled his hand in the water as a gondola carried him to some appointment. None of his appointments were far from his new home, but gondolas were a way of life for him here and he never grew tired of them. He always felt a little bubble of excitement rise inside his chest when he hailed one, hanging onto a red and white striped bollard with one hand and waving with the other. And sometimes when he did that or sank into a musty cushion that had probably been old when the gondolier was young, the friendly ghost of Wragby's wood greeted him. It would always be something simple like that, but when he tried to explain it to his lover, he ended up tongue-tied.

Today, however, he wasn't thinking of such things. As a matter of fact, he wasn't really thinking about much at all, being far too absorbed in catching the last of the afternoon light as it poured into their bedroom. His painting needed only this last sitting, at least so he hoped. He also thought that, after posing without complaint for hours this afternoon, his model was about to mutiny so he tried to be quick.

"Almost done," Elijah murmured. "Are you hungry?"

"Si," replied the man and grinned.

A few more minutes, and Elijah set down his brush. "All right?"

The man rose from the bed and dressed quickly, following Elijah out of the room, both of them eager to take their ease in the Piazza San Marco before seeking out plates of aromatic spaghetti al vongole that they would wash down with crisp white wine. They forgot to shutter the window, so the room grew cool as the sun set and the air outside chilled from the canal's cold water.

It did not bother the dog sleeping in front of the unlit hearth. She roused with a little woof when her human companions departed, but she was warm enough and sleepy and soon slipped back into her doggy dreams. And very active dreams they were, for her paws scrabbled on the bare wooden floor and she whined as she chased rabbits through the green woods of a Wragby spring. Eventually, her dreams wore down and she was quiet and still.

The last amber rays of sunlight spilled over her and the neatly mended drawing that hung above the hearth's mantelpiece, the lines of the sketch shining out like old gold in the gathering evening.


End file.
